#and have him on my desk while i cry over health and social work

[eyluvu]

I want to pick jedediah up and put him in my pocket

[mosswillow]

Your room (Dark!Peter Parker x Reader)

Word count 3.3k

!!!!! This is dark! And explicit 18+ only !!!!!

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, oral (female receiving), spankings, punishment, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, unprotected sex, smut, vaginal intercourse.

Summery: Your life is bland and boring but not for long. What happens when you catch the eye of a certain super hero?

Your room has always reflected you as a person. In highschool you haphazardly filled the walls with quotes and posters. Your room was messy in the typical way teenagers rooms tend to be, but also like a typical teenager was filled with feeling and hope. In college you filled your space with pictures of you and your friends taken on a polaroid camera. Everywhere you looked had your life staring back at you. Now as an adult the pictures from college are tucked away in a box. Your room is simple and boring. Most people think of you as minimalist but you don’t do it to be trendy, you just have no passion. You’ve spent the years after graduating college working a job you hate in a lab, running the same tests over and over again. You’ve always wanted to be a scientist, working on something new and exciting. You’ve applied everywhere but you rarely even get an interview. Your dreams, unfortunately, will never happen for you. Sometimes you wish for someone to swoop in and take you for your bland life but you know that will never happen. Watching your friends get dream jobs and buy homes while you waste away has crushed your spirit. You’re tired.

---

“Hey Y/N, we’re going out tonight.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, you never come with us.”

“Ok sure.”

Your coworker is right that you never go out anymore and so several hours later you walk into a bar, grabbing a drink and finding your coworkers. The bar is bustling with activity and you lose track of time. You usually curl up in bed with a book on a friday night but you’re glad you came. You used to go out all the time in college and miss being social. Going out is good for your mental health and you decide to make more of a point to spend time with people.

You say goodbye to your still partying co-workers and head home a little past midnight. You start your walk and cut through an alleyway, wanting to get home before you vomit from the alcohol.

“Hey sweetheart. What are you doing all alone out here?”

A large man steps out of the shadows and walks toward you. You ignore him, keeping your eyes focused ahead and pick up the pace.

“Oi, I’m talkin’ to you,” He lunges forward and grabs your arm.

“Let me go.” You try to walk away but he holds onto you still, pushing you against the wall and landing a bruising kiss on your lips. His breath smells rancid and you feel bile rise in your throat. You cry out for help and the man is suddenly pulled away from you. You watch with disbelief as Spider man throws the stranger against the opposing wall.

“She said to go away buddy.”

The man slowly stands up and runs away. Spider Man shoots a web at the running stranger and he falls over, immobilized.

“You ok?” Spider Man turns to you, cocking his head.

“Yes, thank you Spider Man.”

“I’ll come check on you tomorrow”

You watch spider man pick up the stranger like he’s nothing and swing away. You walk the rest of the way home and lie in bed, unable to fall asleep. The next morning there’s a tap on your window and you look out to see Spider Man on your fire escape. You briefly wonder how he knows where you live but quickly brush off the thought and open your window.

“You sure you’re ok?” He steps towards you, looking you over.

“Just a little shaken up.”

He walks to your kitchen, filling a glass of water and handing it to you.

“This is too much, really I’m fine. You already saved me.”

“Drink the water,” He commands.

You sigh and drink it.

“That’s a good girl. Now get back to bed.”

You set the glass down and stare at the stranger you let in your home. Alarm bells start ringing.

“I’d like you to leave.”

“I’ll leave once I know you’re doing as you're told.”

Your heart beats rapidly and you take a step back.

“I appreciate that you saved me and came to make sure that I’m fine but I’m now asking you to please go.”

Spider man crosses his arms.

“I’ll call the cops” you say.

“And say what?”

“That there’s an intruder.”

Spider man sighs and walks to your window, standing at it.

“Get in bed and I’ll go.”

You walk to your bed and get under the covers.

“Good girl. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

As soon as he’s through the window you jump out of bed and lock every door and window, double checking your work. You get back in bed and let out a sigh of relief, finally able to sleep.

You wake up to tapping on your window. Spiderman is back. You make your way to the window but don’t open it.

“Let me in.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with you in here.”

Spider Man shakes his head and leaves without a word.

The next few weeks are filled with anxiety. You see flashes of red in your peripheral vision everywhere you go. Spider man is stalking you. You consider telling police but don’t think they’ll believe you. It sounds crazy, even to you. If it weren't for the bruises from the assault in the alleyway you would think you had imagined the whole thing. You stop leaving your apartment unless necessary and never go out after dark.

You get a voicemail one day.

“HI, this is Rebecca Johnson from Stark Industries. We’re looking for someone to fill a position in one of our labs. You had submitted an application previously and we wanted to reach out and see if you’d like to interview for the position. Please call back at your earliest convenience.

You squeal in delight, doing a celebratory fist pump. Stark industries is a dream job. You immediately hit redial and set up the interview. This would change everything. Just one year working at Stark would open up endless possibilities for you and that’s if you ever want to leave. You could afford a nicer apartment with more security. Maybe you will finally feel safe. You remind yourself that it’s just an interview and you shouldn’t get ahead of yourself.

---

You look up at the tower and take a deep breath. It’s intimidating, going for an interview at Stark tower. It’s been so long since you’ve interviewed anywhere let alone somewhere so big. You tug at your blouse, second guessing your outfit, maybe you should have worn something different. It’s too late to go back home and change. You walk in, mustering up all the courage you can and talk to the woman at the front desk.

“Hi, I’m here for an interview. Y/N Y/L/N”

“Oh yes, they’re expecting you. Here’s a temporary badge. Go to the 80th floor and take a seat.”

You take the badge and follow the instructions. You’re surprised to find yourself in what looks like private quarters. There’s a small couch near the elevator and you sit and wait.

Tony Stark himself appears in front of you and your mouth flies open. You stand quickly and hold your hand out.

“Mr. Stark, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Tony looks you up and down, clicking his tongue.

“Likewise, follow.”

You half walk, half run behind him, getting in the elevator and taking it down a floor. You arrive at a state of the art lab and workshop and Tony leads you to a desk.

“The whole workshop will be open to you. This is your desk.”

He starts walking again and you keep following him back to the elevator and to another floor.

“Here’s where you’ll live. I’ll leave you with the contract and you can call my assistant if you have any questions.”

He hands you a tablet and walks out.

You look around the room dumbfounded. You thought you were just here for an interview. You guess this means you got the job. You swipe through the contract and your eyes widen at your salary. There are a few things that make you uncomfortable though. You’re required to live on site and there’s a curfew. You have to sign a NDA about anything you see in the tower. You also can’t decide to quit without permission, which you’re not sure is even legal. You call the number to Tony’s assistant.

“This is Rebecca.”

“Hi, this is Y/N. I’m looking through this contract and it says I have to live on site and there’s a curfew?”

“Yes. That is non negotiable. Living on site will give you access to the workshop 24/7. There will be times when you will work through the night. The curfew is for security as the tower is locked down every night.”

You would rather have your own place where you can come and go as you please but you’re willing to live here if you have to and the reason for a curfew makes sense. The tower has top of the line security, which is something that’s really important to you. You don’t usually go out late anyway and if you do decide to be out late you can crash at a friends house or get a hotel room.

“And the avengers? Will I have to work closely with them?”

“You might meet them or see them at some point but most likely not.”

“I know this sounds weird but I don’t want Spider man to know I’m working here.”

“Mums the word.”

“What exactly will the job entail? I see there’s a NDA.”

“You’ll be an assistant in Tony Stark's personal workshop and will work closely with him. He appreciates privacy.”

“I see, and the part where I’m not allowed to quit?”

“He just wants to make sure you’re serious. Tony picks his assistants personally and requires loyalty.”

“Ok, thank you.”

You hang up and sign the screen. When you open the door there's a man standing outside. He’s not a tall man, standing a few inches taller than you. However, he is muscular and something about him commands attention. You feel an immediate pull towards him.

“Oh, hi I’m Peter Parker.” He holds out his hand.

“I’m Y/N”

“I also work with Tony and live right next to you. I’ll be your direct boss.”

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Parker.”

“Peter is fine. I won’t keep you any longer, I just wanted to introduce myself.”

You immediately get to work rearranging your life. By the end of the weekend you’re completely moved into your new place and on monday you start your first day on the job. It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of, full of state of the art technology and free reign to do whatever you want. You walk into work every day with a smile.

You work alone most of the time, Tony and Peter working awkward, sporadic hours but you enjoy it when you do get to work with them. Tony is funny and brilliant, you learn more from him than from any college class. Peter is smart and sweet. He helps you with your work and makes sure you’re always taken care of, sending you back to your room if you’ve been working too long or making you take breaks to eat. You find yourself starting to develop feelings for Peter and your heart swells when he asks you on a date. Life is good and only getting better.

You meet Peter outside of your door and he takes your hand. The two of you walk to a little italian restaurant and Peter takes your menu, ordering your food for you. It’s very forward for a first date but you like the confidence. After dinner he walks you back to your door and kisses you. You see something in his eyes when he pulls away, possessive and dark. It makes you feel uncomfortable but also excited. Nobody has ever looked at you like that.

Over the next few weeks Peter becomes more and more comfortable around you, becoming more physical. It’s small things, like pushing your hair back when talking or touching you gently as he walks past. He asks you out again, this time wanting to cook you dinner and you decline, suggesting a coffee date instead. You don’t feel comfortable enough with him to be alone in his room. He clenches his jaw when you tell him, obviously upset you won’t come over but agrees.

A few days later you decide to go out with some old friends and crash on one of their couches. When you get home the next day Peter is standing outside your door.

“You missed curfew.”

“I know, I went out with friends and crashed on one of their couches.”

Peter clenches his jaw.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

“It shouldn't matter if I want to stay the night somewhere else.”

“Well it does.”

You roll your eyes and unlock your door quickly, locking it behind you. The two of you have only been on one date. His behavior is a red flag and you decide to take things slowly.

The next day you decide to go out for coffee, pulling on a simple tee shirt dress and some flip flops. The elevator won’t let you down.

“Your privileges have been revoked.” Peter says from behind you.

You jump. “Why?”

“You know why.”

He stalks toward you, pushing you up against the elevator.

“I don’t feel comfortable with this Peter. You need to back away from me now.”

Peter takes a step back.

“I’m sorry but right now I don’t want any sort of relationship outside of work.”

“That’s not going to work for me.”

Something in Peter's eyes terrifies you. You need to get out of here. You try the elevator again but it still won’t open.

“I quit.” you yell at the elevator, feeling more danger every second you’re stuck in the hallway with Peter.

“You can’t quit baby.”

“There’s no way it’s legal to force me to keep working even if it’s in the contract.”

“There’s nowhere to go. You’re not getting out of this building and even if you did you’d have to find a lawyer to take your case.”

“You can’t do this, I'll tell Tony.”

“Who do you think suggested this in the first place? Most of the Avengers have gotten their partners this way. I was waiting for the right person and I knew you were them the moment I saw you.”

“Why would Tony help you trap me here? You’re just a lab assistant.”

“Oh no honey, I’m much more than that.”

He steps toward you, caging you in.

“You think it’s a coincidence I saved you in that alleyway?”

“Spider man?”

Peter gives a grin. He leans in and smells your hair.

“No.”

“I’m sorry it’s happening this way, I wanted to break you down slower. You’ll have a really good life, we’ll live together and work together. You’ll have everything you could need or want.”

“I want to leave.”

“You’ll change your mind, you just need a little motivation.”

Peter pulls you to his room and opens the door, pushing you into his apartment. You try to run but he easily catches you, picking you up and throwing you on his bed.

“Why are you doing this? Why me?” you scrabble to the far side of the bed.

“You’re mine.”

Peter's phone rings and he picks it up.

“Hey, yes I did... I know It wasn’t the plan, I had to improvise… Ok, see you in a few weeks.”

He hangs up and gets on top of you. you spit in his face.

“I’m not yours freak. Let me go.”

“You won’t be allowed to act like that moving forward. Now lie still.”

“Get off of me.”

Peter gets off briefly, flipping you over his lap and pulling up your skirt. He lands a smack on your bottom.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to do this. You’ve been so bad baby.

“Not letting me in your apartment.”

Smack.

“Telling Rebecca you didn’t want me to you started working here.”

Smack

“Staying out all night.”

Smack.

“Shutting the door in my face.”

Smack.

“I liked you Peter, If you had just acted like a normal person we could have continued a relationship.” You say through tears.

“I don’t want a relationship, I want to own you.”

He lands another blow on your bottom and grabs your underwear, pulling them down and off of you. You try to wiggle away but he’s so strong and easily holds you down with one arm. He moves his hand between your legs and towards your sex, pushing a finger in and out.

“You’re wet for me.” He says smugly.

You close your eyes and turn your head away. You’ve stopped resisting and he lets go.

“There you go.”

He kisses your neck and cheek then grabs your chin moving your face and kissing you gently, pushing his tongue into your mouth. He pulls back and you hear him unbuttons his pants, pulling them down. You open your eyes and move away from him, pushing your back against the headboard. You watch as he holds his erection, slowly moving his hand up and down. He moves towards you and grabs your ankle, pulling you down the bed and positioning himself in between your legs. He holds onto your hips and kisses your inner thigh, moving toward your mound until his mouth is on your clit, kissing and licking. You arch your back and throw your head back, fighting against the rising orgasm. Right before you come he pulls back, smiling up at your dazed face. He rises up and slowly pushes his dick into you until you’re full. You whimper as he brings his hand down to your clit, stimulating it.

“That’s right baby,I know what you like.”

You can’t think about anything else anymore, only the orgasm that threatens to take over.

“Come Baby”

You reach out, grabbing his arms as you come. He grabs your shoulders and thrusts deep, filling you with cum before collapsing next to you, pulling you into the crook of his arm.

“Can I go back to my room now?” you ask.

“You won’t be leaving this room until I can trust you.”

“I won’t say anything. You won. You got what you wanted so just let me go.”

“You still don’t get it Y/N. You’re mine now. I know this is a hard adjustment but everything will be fine as long as you follow what I say.”

“And if I don’t obey you?”

“You’ll be punished.”

“Fuck you.”

Peter sits up next to you, grabbing his pants off the floor and pulling his belt out of the loops.

“I guess your first lesson starts now.”

---

You look around the room you live in. It’s no longer the empty minimalist space it was before you met Peter. Now it’s filled with him. Everywhere you look there are reminders of him. The shower has his body wash and razor. There are pictures of him hanging on the walls. Everything you own has been bought for you by Peter. He dictates what you’re allowed to wear, where you’re allowed to go, who can talk to. It’s all him. Every part of your life revolves around Peter to the point where you don’t know what you would do without him. You wake up to him, go to sleep to him, think about him constantly. You’re even sometimes woken up in the middle of the night to him touching you, wanting you. At some point you stop pretending you don’t want him back. You hate it but it’s true.

Your room has always been a reflection of you as a person.

[jamaiskookie]

meet me in your memories (knj)

✂︎ pairing: memory traveller namjoon x gender neutral reader

✂︎ wc: 11.8k

✂︎ TW// car crash, mentions of death, crying, mental health, mental breakdowns, spoilers for frozen 1?? um, vomiting, mentions of PTSD, three seconds of family drama, memory loss

✂︎ notes: a little gift from me for being away so long <3 luv yall also ignore how short and shitty this is!!! ignore it!!!!! 

✂︎ synopsis: namjoon is a memory traveller - he is thrusted back and forth into his world and the world of his memories, forced to re-enact his past experiences. but he doesn’t recognise you, who keeps showing up in his memories. why doesn’t he remember you? why can’t he recall any of these scenes if they’re supposed to be his memories? and why does it always feel like he’s forgetting something? 

he comes to find out that he would choose you over and over again, in whatever lifetime or world he’s in. because he always returns to you. 

✂︎ fic tunes: "eight"- iu (prod. & feat. suga) but you're at your favorite secret spot after a long day by neptjoon

masterlist asks

The road is slippery and Namjoon cranes his head out to look at the window. Rain splattering everywhere, he notes worriedly. He hopes that nobody crashes. The bus driver sitting about three meters in front of him is humming a melody to a song he doesn’t know nor recognise. While listening to the poor man hum the off beat tune, Namjoon sits in silence, wondering how sad it must be to drive a bus with no passengers but himself. 

Suddenly, his stomach drops and his head spins, and this time Namjoon is certain it’s not from the rain or the driver’s subpar driving. He lurches forward, watching as the rain knocks against the window and falls in thick ribbons. 

Click. 

In an instant, Namjoon’s world collapses around him and he is thrown into his mind. 

Seoul is sweltering hot - hot like he’s never felt before. Namjoon reaches up to clutch his head, which is still spinning, and finds himself standing in a pair of light washed baggy jeans and a sleeveless tee shirt, unlike the padding coat and thick boots he had on just a moment ago. 

“Namjoon!” Someone squeals behind him and his heart jumps. He jumps around, facing you and the view of hot street food stalls and tall buildings behind you. Suddenly, his hand is reaching out to grab onto yours and you smile softly. 

He hears his own voice ring out, clear as day: “Don’t run. I was looking for you.” 

“Psh.” You wave off his concern, handing him a shiny golden hotteok. You hold an identical one in your fist, so he accepts it and murmurs his thanks, tearing apart the pancake and stuffing it into his mouth. Sweet, hot honey and small pieces of walnut flood into his mouth, and Namjoon is momentarily surprised. Science states that you cannot taste or physically feel anything in your dreams. 

But Namjoon already proved that wrong long ago. 

He takes you by hand and drags you over to a shelter, for some rest, apparently uninterested in your cries of wanting more tteokbokki or some Chinese food. He flings you over to his side and places his hand over your shoulder, while you both silently devour your hotteoks. 

“This was a nice date.” You mumble tentatively, and oh. That’s what this is? A date? He wants to turn around and ask you for your name. Where are you from? Why am I here again? He wants to scream it out until his lungs hurt and he gets an answer that makes sense, but no matter how much he tries, his throat will not allow those words to tumble out of his lips.  

Why don’t I remember you?

Instead, he replies: “Yeah, it was. This was fun.” He tilts his head down to smile at you and Namjoon finds himself nervous. Nervous enough that his hands are shaking against his will, but he tells himself that the sweat and the nervousness are all side effects of the swampy heat this summer. 

You beam at him and Namjoon thinks you’re an angel. You lean up onto his chest to place a soft kiss onto his lips and Namjoon thinks about when he’s going to be thrown back out of his head. 

“Wanna go home?” He asks, nudging at the sky, which is already filled up with first streaks of the sunset. Purple hues and pinks and blues that all blend together nicely. You watch the sky for a moment.

“Never.” You offer no explanation after that and Namjoon doesn’t pry. He feels like he understands you, which is scarier than any other encounter he’s faced, in real life and in here. You stare up at him more intensely, and a shudder of fear runs down Namjoon’s back. “I just want to stay here forever,” You enunciate, like you want him to remember this. “Just Y/N and Namjoon.” 

Something tugs in his chest and Namjoon screams in his head, no. Longer. Not now. He slips away, gone, disappeared from the world before he can even tell you how pretty your name is. And he awakens back at the bus, where the driver is shaking him and yelling at him to get out. 

Namjoon walks home in the rain, yelling out your name in happiness until his neighbours come over politely asking him to shut the fuck up. 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… Y/N?” He keeps repeating the name over and over again, enough to make Seokjin annoyed, who has moved away from Namjoon’s desk to the sofa in his office just to escape the random spiel that Namjoon is hurriedly rushing through. 

“I can’t find a single Y/N in here!” Namjoon cries frustratingly, and the corners of Seokjin’s eyes soften in something that is either pity or empathy. He discards his non-fiction novel about drag queens and wigs to come over and clap a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. 

“My friend, my crazy, idiotic, slightly insane friend.” Seokjin bends down. “You’ve checked all your yearbooks, social media, archives, newspapers… Have you perhaps considered that this person wasn’t that important? Just a passing stranger?”

“No.” Namjoon shoots down stubbornly. “They appear far too often for them not to be important.” So Seokjin shrugs, leaving Namjoon to, once again, search through the Facebook friends of a friend of a friend of a friend. 

But no Y/N’s pop up, and he’s wondering if Y/N was just a nickname. Was it even your real name? With a sigh and one single (rather impressive) agitated brow wave, he lets go and spills. He tells Seokjin about how he finally learned your name, about the places you’ve been together and how much you adore street food. 

He appreciates Seokjin for being a good friend, for sitting there and not interrupting to call him a crazy person, even if he is most certainly thinking about it in his head. Because Seokjin, at least, knows about a miniscule part of Namjoon’s tragic life. He doesn’t understand, but he gets it, and that’s all Namjoon needs in a friend. 

He doesn’t tell Seokjin about how soft and pillowy your lips feel against his, he doesn’t tell you how much he longs to do unspeakable things to you when you show up in those blue short shorts. He definitely doesn’t tell him how much he loves your name. 

Seokjin suggests a number of things. That perhaps you are a character from long ago, or maybe a passing stranger Namjoon once had a summer fling with. You may be someone long forgotten like a mutual friend in high school or college. He also suggests a psychiatric hospital to screw his head back on (as a joke, Namjoon’s pretty sure.) 

But none of those seem right. Namjoon does his best to explain, he really does. For an award winning journalist and aspiring writer, he does just about a terrible job of trying to string his words together. Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose and falls back onto the sofa, already spacing out. Namjoon weakly cries out that he knows you. He really does - he just doesn’t remember how, or why. 

Like a puzzle with a few missing pieces. 

He wonders when and if the missing pieces will ever make their way over to him. 

Namjoon gives up and flops down onto the sofa next to Jin, who squeaks out various protests about how heavy he is and how stupidly huge his arms have gotten after he started working out, along the lines of comparing him to Jungkook and calling him a gym rat. 

As usual, Namjoon doesn’t listen. 

It’s difficult to explain the feeling of falling to someone who hasn’t experienced it. The cursed Click echoes out and suddenly, the world spins around, the axis breaks and he’s physically thrown into another time, another place… another memory that he can’t seem to recall. His stomach lurches, his head hurts and there’s a small breeze flowing in. 

For a short moment, the loops of space and time are completely open to him. He can’t see it, but he can feel it. It flips his mind completely upside down and boom. He’s in a specific, random time and place. His body feels light, and every step he takes, he can physically feel it: He doesn’t belong here. He isn’t supposed to be here. Everything feels different. Even the air is more smoky, because something in this world is suddenly wrong, and it’s him. 

The next time he meets you, he is in just about the worst place to fall. Sitting in a press conference, his stomach drops and he’s dreading the fall. Namjoon can already hear his boss screaming at him, and he desperately tries to root himself to his seat, typing whatever the assemblyman is yapping on and on about. About farming and agriculture and tax cuts… 

Click. 

He can distantly hear the assemblyman candidate talk about corrupt government workers as he’s thrusted out of his world and into another. 

The memory he has the pleasure to be in this time is something not too unfamiliar. For a second, he thinks if this is just a normal day of him in his cramped, tiny city apartment. Until he turns around and realises you’re lying right next to him, sound asleep and nuzzling into the side of his neck. 

The air is crisp. It’s spring, not winter anymore, and he can hear the flower petals outside his apartment complex falling lightly on the ground. This, Namjoon thinks, may just be the best memory he’s been in. The press conference and his life and his boss slips his mind and he cradles you in his chest, holding you closer and closing his eyes shut. 

“Mm?” You mumble, half asleep. “You’re suffocating me.” You hoarsely call out, and Namjoon releases you with an insincere apology. He brushes the hair out of your hair and grins, framing you in his head. He reaches to his alarm clock, which is right next to his bed as it always is to check the time. 

April 1st, 2017. 

Oh god, Namjoon winces. This means he still has that god awful haircut right now. He reaches up to feel his head, and sure enough, the horrible slicked back bleached hair is still there, an unfortunate result of his friend Hoseok daring him to drunk dye his hair. 

“You’re awake?” He asks you, and you nod slowly. 

He wonders if this memory precedes or follows the one he had with you last time, and he desperately hopes things are going in chronological order. He wants to know you just as much as you know him. Namjoon naively prays to whatever deity that controls his dreamworld: Please follow things step by step, follow the clock. 

You roll around, saying something he can’t really catch. He asks you what you said and for the first time today, you peel open your eyes directly facing him. Namjoon’s heart almost falls out of his ass, seeing your eyes bore into his own. 

“Where’s my morning kiss?” You ask cutely, nudging his nose with your own button nose. 

“Right here.” He finds himself saying, leaning in to close the inches in between your two faces. You taste like hotteok, even early in the morning. You taste like a spring day and a never ending forever. As your lips capture his and his everything is consumed by thoughts of you, Namjoon begs himself to kiss you harder. 

His past self declines politely, and Namjoon thinks about whether this counts as himself being controlled if he himself is still controlling what he says and does. 

In that moment, listening to your slow breathing and someone across the street playing simple, melodic piano chords, Namjoon tells himself: Do not ever forget April 1st, 2017. You rise from the bed and some form of protest bubbles up from Namjoon’s mouth, to which you just laugh and drag him out of bed with the excuse of wanting breakfast. 

You push him into the bathroom, where he expects to meet his sad single grey towel and foggy mirror. You push him in front, and he cringes at the sight of his hair in the mirror. You sigh. 

“Calm down. The blonde looks sexy. You can dye it back black later.” He laughs, because it’s clearly not very sexy. For once, his past self is doing exactly what the current Namjoon is pleading him to do. Does it count as reliving your memories if someone else was living through them originally? But, he reminds himself while you hand him a green toothbrush and squeeze a dollop of toothpaste on both your toothbrushes, this is him. He lived through this once and he is just taking a trip down memory lane. 

The person who lived through this before was him. 

He has to remind himself many more times before it sinks in. 

You brush your teeth next to him, fluffing your hair and squinting in the mirror to wake yourself up. Without a second of hesitation, Namjoon brings the toothbrush up and starts to brush his teeth. Nothing has ever felt more domestic or right than this, despite the tentative steps and heavy lead feeling in his throat telling him he still isn’t supposed to be here. 

You spit out toothpaste in the sink to gargle your mouth and Namjoon mimics you exactly. Somehow, you find yourselves in the kitchen, giggling while making some sort of french toast with an abundance of cinnamon floating through the air. Which makes Namjoon cough and makes you laugh even harder. 

“This is a perfect morning.” You say, peering out the window to watch the city life slowly bustling to life. People scrambling out their doors, ushering their children or pets with them. People you don’t recognise going on walks or runs. Mailmen and delivery people dropping off packages and people yelling into their phones as they hurriedly walk along the sidewalk. 

And you and Namjoon, calmly staying in your pajamas while frying toast on the pan. 

“Is something burning?” You ask, sniffing the air, and Namjoon’s blood runs cold. 

“Oh, shit!” 

You smile and shake your head while Namjoon attempts to save the blackened piece of bread to no avail. He catches sight of the corners of your mouth lifting, even as you chastise him about watching the stove and ranting on about how you’re never going to trust him in the kitchen again. Namjoon watches your pink lips, stained with a brown mudge of cinnamon french toast mixture, which lifts up and your head falls back, hair flowing around your head like a halo. 

Your laugh plays out in front of him in slow motion, and absentmindedly, he thanks that deity he prayed to for slowing this moment down. Because if there’s anything he yearns most to remember, it’s the way you laugh. A chuckle makes its way out of his own throat as well, and he’s not sure who’s in control at the moment. 

Himself or himself in the past?

Either way, they both did the right thing. Namjoon forgets. He forgets the life he has back home, he forgets Seokjin’s warnings, he forgets that he has at least a hundred articles waiting for him at work to be written. He forgets that this world is nothing but a chance for him to follow the footsteps of what he once did, with no control to say or do anything he wishes to do himself. 

But, oh, he really can’t bring himself to care. 

Those piano chords from before blend together beautifully, and you scrape the black toast into the garbage can, still teasing him relentlessly, and oh. Oh, this is what it means to have a home. You made this junk of a house into a home, and he feels like he has to return here. This is where he’s meant to return to, everyday. Each time. 

You turn around after discarding the toast and with a bright smile, you ask him to kiss you again. Namjoon thinks that he doesn’t ever have the capability to deny you when you smile like that, so he complies and crashes his lips onto yours. 

The lead, heavy feeling in his throat is still weighing him down. Except Namjoon isn’t sure whether it’s weighing him down to this world or the real world.

 The cursed deity pulls him back, pulling him through the time and space back to his own responsibilities and life. His heart is wrenched out and he reaches out, trying to grasp your hand for the last time. He falls back to his own world in a hospital bed and an IV attached to his arm with half a piece of french toast dangling in his mouth and another promise he makes with himself to meet you again with a smile on his face. 

Memories… memories that he’s lived through but can’t remember. Memories he slips into to live momentarily through the actions and words of his old self. 

Somewhere along the line of diving back and forth his own life and this past one, he has forgotten which is which. 

“Most likely due to exhaustion. Lack of sleep, lack of rest. It’s quite common with working young adults, workaholics. I’m putting him on medical leave for the rest of the week. He needs a rest - He needed it yesterday. Don’t worry too much, Mrs. Kim. A long nap and a meal or two will fix him right back up.” Namjoon groggily registers the white walls and beeping noises, the chatter of doctors and nurses rushing around. 

He’s in a hospital, and a rush of fear runs straight through his blood. He sits up to eye his mother, sitting next to him and holding his hand. She shushes him, laying him back down on the bed, but all he can do is panic. 

“No, not here. Not here again.” He mumbles incoherently. His mother puts a hand over his eyes, shushing him again and telling him softly to go back to sleep. He doesn’t want to go to sleep, he wants to get out of here. But his eyelids are already feeling heavy and he weakly fights against his body, but before he can even process it, his eyes are shut and he is asleep. 

Seeing her son close his eyes and drift off to sleep, Mrs. Kim turns back to the doctor. 

“I’m not surprised,” She starts. “He’s always worked himself to the bone. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about his brain.” The doctor cocks his head and looks through the papers which are clipped to a clipboard in his arms. 

“Ah, yes. I see he was in a car accident a few years ago.” Doctors are some of the most heartless people, and you can always tell how experienced a doctor is by how much sympathy they show. This doctor shows none at all, which must mean he’s been working for a long time. 

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Kim.” The doctor continues, peering over Namjoon’s sleeping body. “I see he suffered light effects after the accident. Selective amnesia, no external damages to the skull. He didn’t suffer as much. In fact, I believe the doctor in charge believed that the amnesia was mostly due to the shock of the event. But he’s received treatment for PTSD since then, right?” 

Mrs. Kim nods. 

“Good. Doctor Park also noted at the time that his amnesia actually didn’t affect much of his memory. He couldn’t remember distant relatives or kindergarten friends, but that seemed to be the extent of his amnesia. Oh,” The doctor slipped through the clipboard. “He also couldn’t remember certain knowledge about philosophers such as Freud, which he was, quote, ‘devastated over’ un-quote.” 

Mrs. Kim stays silent. 

“So, you don’t have to worry too much. Best thing your son could do for his well being is rest. And a therapist if he has a relapse or shows some symptoms such as sleep difficulties or nightmares, or physical signs like fatigue and nausea.” 

Mrs. Kim nods. “Thank you, doctor.”

That’s it, and she turns back to her son, with her hand in his. She stays there, unmoving until he opens his eyes, mumbling incoherent questions and asking his mother why he is in the hospital again, demanding to be discharged immediately. Her heart breaks a little, small cracks form for her beloved son and she kisses him on the forehead, telling him he’d be out of here in no time. 

“What did you see?” She asks quietly, and Namjoon is surprised. She never asks him about his memory walks. It’s taboo to mention it in his household. Not even his sister is comfortable talking about it. “Anything? At all? You passed out at a rather unfortunate time, I heard.” She continues. 

“Nothing much.” Namjoon replies, lying through his teeth and trying to justify it with the sight of your laugh. He leans back and closes his eyes once more, bringing up his memories of you and your bedhead. He tries to fill the gap inside of him with thoughts of you, as if that can make up for the empty feeling that he’s forgetting something. 

In the hospital, staring at a white ceiling and glaring lights, Namjoon is left to think about what’s happening to his head. During the end of his rather short stay, he comes up with a terrifying conclusion. One that scares him more than he could imagine, but it’s the only one that makes sense. He’s falling in love with you. 

He voices out this concern to Seokjin when he visits after his mother leaves. Seokjin stays silent, mumbling out an apology that feels like the wrong thing to say. The elder boy can only look at his friend with sadness in his eyes, telling him that someone as great as Namjoon shouldn’t be suffering so much pain. Namjoon jokes that a witch must have cursed him when he was born. 

None of the two friends laugh. 

This routine continues on and on, without Namjoon dwelling too much on it. Which is so much unlike Namjoon, whose main personality trait is overthinking about the smallest things. He lets the flow of time and space take him wherever they wish to plop him down. He lets the evil deity toy with his heart and wrench him away whenever you smile the largest. 

It hurts right after he is torn away from you, but he’s filled with so much joy in the moment that he can’t bring himself to do anything else about it. Even if he wanted to do something without it, he has no idea where on earth he might start. 

Sometimes he questions the validity of his memories. What is real, what is fake? He still can’t answer, and this is what he spends most of his time wondering about. The memories he has with you don’t make sense. Those are large gaps in his life that he seems to have no recollection of. 

He goes everywhere with you. 

One day he showed up on November 5th, 2015. 

The next day he jumped to August 23rd, 2017. 

Another time, he was thrown into March 15th, 2016. 

None of it makes sense. Are they not memories? He thinks. There’s no possible way he’s spent this much of his life with you and can’t recall any of it. What is real - the world he spends with you, or the world where he always returns to by default?

And yet, nothing else can explain these short periods of blackouts. Ever since one day in some horrible hospital, he’s gone under and pulled and thrusted into some land where he has no control over his own hands. Everything else makes sense. This world, everything else is accurate from the settings to the props, with one anomaly in his memory. 

A character who goes by the name of Y/N. 

He could go the science-y logic route that he so often frequents, come up with theories that can somewhat explain these periods of time. Theories that include explanations such as hallucinations, or that Seokjin’s right and he’s finally gone crazy. You’re just a figment of his imagination, that this is all in his head and he’s out of his mind. 

But he rejects all those theories when he’s clicked into another memory. Somehow, he just understands. These are memories. These are memories he’s had with you, whether that was in a past life or in some sort of messed up alternate timeline where he’s actually happy. 

Is this a gift or another curse from this stupid deity?

He has too many questions. 

He cannot explain these memories using science, logic, common sense, or even using his own words. But in the moment, while you’re in his arms, he can feel it. He can explain it by describing the way you smell, like pancakes and fresh mint. He can explain it by describing the way you feel, like a warm marshmallow filling up his insides and consuming him. 

It’s cheesy, cringier than Seokjin’s dad jokes, but only he gets it. 

Namjoon is in his living room, switching channels on the TV and thinking about this when his stomach sinks again. He braces himself, and disappears. 

Click.

Seoul is freezing cold. The air is light and he is sitting on a bench on his college campus, rubbing his hands together and zipping up his huge jacket over his sweater. Namjoon shudders, his body not yet used to the bite of the cold compared to the warm breeze he was just enjoying. 

He sniffles, nose slightly red like some knockoff Rudolph and wanders around. His body pulls him to go to the right, despite the warm coffee shop being on the left. He shudders again and tries to protest, but his body won’t listen, standing up and walking over to the right with no particular destination in mind. Students are rushing around, complaining about the cold and talking about their next party or study session. 

Namjoon pulls himself forwards, and thank god this version of himself still has terrible tolerance for the cold, because he reaches up and pulls his beanie down over his ears, still wandering around aimlessly. Where are you going? Namjoon wants to scream out frustratingly. 

His brain doesn’t reply and Namjoon sulks. 

Eventually, he is pulled over to another bench, outside in the cold, and he sits down, deeply resenting himself and wondering why on earth he just stood up from one bench to walk to another one. If anything, it’s colder here. He watches the students that pass by for a minute or two, thinking that this is the most boring memory he’s ever been in. 

There is no snow falling, but almost everything on campus is lined with a sheet of ice or cold steam. Namjoon nuzzles deeper into his own clothes, cursing himself for not being able to go buy another sweater or something to fight the extreme cold. 

Suddenly, you appear in front of him and Namjoon perks up. There you are. He thinks. Finally. You come over and sit down, holding something in your hands. He smiles, waiting for you to speak up and greet him with a kiss that will surely warm him up, but you silently sit next to him, ignoring him. Namjoon urges himself to say something, but instead, he continues to watch the students bustling through campus grounds without looking at you. 

Are we fighting? Is Y/N mad at me? 

This is excruciatingly frustrating, Namjoon bites his tongue and thinks. Why can’t he just say something? Abruptly, something lands on his jacket with a splat and he straightens up, snapping his neck towards you, who is looking at the yogurt splat on his jacket with a look of terror. 

“Oh my gosh!” You squeak out, quickly setting your yogurt aside and reaching for some tissues in your purse. “Oh, god, oh god, I’m so sorry. Please, let me-” Namjoon frowns, taking his hands out of his pockets to thumb at his jacket, debating whether he wants to take it off or not. 

You lean over, pawing at his jacket and wiping the yogurt off of his jacket. “I’m so sorry!” 

“No, don’t worry.” Namjoon says, chuckling. He reaches for another tissue, helping you get the yogurt off of him. “It’s no big deal.” The yogurt is mostly wiped off and you side eye him with the unmistakable look of guilt filling your eyes. Namjoon laughs again. 

“It’s fine, really! No, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m literally so sorry. Do you want me to pay for dry cleaning? Laundry? I can, um, wash it for you! I’m not the best at laundry, but it’s the least I could do?” 

Namjoon briefly wonders why you’re being so polite. 

“No, it’s fine.” The words tumble out his mouth again before he can process it. “Really, this jacket is old, anyway.” Not really, Namjoon thinks. It feels really new. “But who the hell eats cold yogurt in this kind of weather?” He jokes. “You sure you’re not a demon?”

You freeze, terrified before realising he was cracking a joke. “Oh. Hah! Yeah, no, I guess I just really like yogurt.” You offer lamely, and you break out into a small giggle. “Yeah, I guess I kind of am a psycho for eating it right now. It’s freezing today.” 

“God, tell me about it.” Namjoon says, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. 

“Thanks for not going bonkers on me. This jacket looks insanely expensive.” 

“Not really.”

“I’m Y/N.” You greet, holding a hand out for him to shake. I know, Namjoon thinks with a secret smile, but everything makes sense now. You don’t know him yet. To you in this moment in time, he’s just a random stranger who didn’t blow up on you after spraying some yogurt onto you. To him, you’re… you’re… 

“Oh, um, I’m Namjoon.” He says, hurriedly taking a hand out of his pocket to shake your outstretched hand. Your fingers meet and Namjoon swears a small zap just went through his hand. 

“Namjoon. Nice to meet you, Namjoon.” You say with a small smile, yogurt already long forgotten on the bench beside you two. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” He says in return, even though he doesn’t mean it. He already knows you, he knows you better than everyone. He knows your favourite food is Korean street food, and you always wake him up with kisses and your favourite colour is periwinkle and you absolutely hate abalone with more passion than he’s ever seen in his entire life.

But this is your first time seeing him, ever, he reminds himself. This is your meet cute. This single moment set off the events in the next god knows how many years. This is the first time he ever had your name grace his tongue. This is the first time you’ve seen him. 

Another moment to treasure. You let go of his hand, after realising you two have been shaking hands for much longer than the socially acceptable rate of hand shaking. Blushing, either from the cold or humiliation, you sit, turn back around, grabbing a hold of your yogurt once more. 

Suddenly, Namjoon finds himself blurting out: “Hey, you wanna go get some coffee?” You look over curiously, pointing to yourself like you can’t believe he’s asking you out, because you don’t know that you’re all he ever thinks about at any given moment in any given day. “You’ll probably freeze your ass off if you keep eating that yogurt.” He jokes, pretending like this is all because he’s caring about how cold you are and not how cute or incredible or kind you are. 

“Sure.” You say, nodding shyly. He stands up, leading you to walk over to the left where the campus coffee shop is. Along the way, you throw the yogurt cup in the trash. 

“You can’t bring food brought from outside into a shop, right?” You ask. 

Namjoon smiles. “Yeah.” He stays there until night takes over the sky and one single twinkling star in the sky is signalling that it’s time to go home. Possibly the longest time he’s ever spent in a memory. He keeps glancing at the clock, praying that he gets one more minute with you, one more second, one more moment. 

At any time, he could be pulled out of this world, and he needs to make the most of it. You tell him about your childhood bedroom and your major. You tell him about the love you have for pancakes, and how much you want a puppy even though it’s prohibited in the on campus dorms. He nods, pretending like this is all new information even though it’s not, and he’s known all of this for the longest time. He knows you better than you know yourself, which he keeps to himself. 

In return, he tells you about his own childhood bedroom, which was adorned with posters of western hip hop rappers. He tells you about his passions for writing and music, that if he didn’t major in journalism, he’d be studying music production in school. He tells you that he’s obsessed with philosophy, and in all honesty, is a bit of a nerd. 

Instead of laughing or pulling a face, you nod and smile, saying that you think he should tell you more about philosophy on a second date. 

You leave the coffee shop with a small goodbye, and even though he desperately wants to, Namjoon can’t kiss you. 

He gets pulled back after you disappear pass the corner of the street, and the world morphes into a huge motion blur. When he gets pulled back into his living room, the TV is playing late night TV shows already. Namjoon checks the time. He was pulled in for five hours, the longest he’s ever been in that world. 

After that, no matter how much more he prays and begs, he never stays any longer than that. 

Three days later, Namjoon suddenly pops into Hong Kong, which is hotter than anything he’s ever felt. The streets are heavy with people, squabbling in cantonese while selling raw meats in a wet market. The sun is glaringly bright, and Namjoon starts to sweat almost instantaneously. Taxis and huge buses drive past, Namjoon jumps to a side only to find a vast ocean. He’s at the harbour front. 

The smell of food, of egg tarts and pineapple buns and meat dumplings along with other Hong Kong delicacies waft through the air, combined with the salty air of the sea. It makes for a strange combination that confuses his senses but works nonetheless. 

He thought he knew a city like Seoul, but this is a true city. This is busy and fast paced like he’s never even seen before. People shove each other aside to catch the bus, dogs are yapping everywhere and he soaks it all in before the thought enters his head.

What the hell is he doing in Hong Kong?

It’s like every time he wonders aloud, you pop up. “I’ve been looking for you.” You say, echoing the words he said to you that day in the streets of Seoul. 

“I was exploring!“ He says defensively, and you roll your eyes. 

“Come on.” You say, walking along the harbour front. 

“You’re not still mad at me, are you?” Namjoon asks, the words spilling out and surprising himself. Are you mad at him? You’ve never been mad at him before, not in the memories he’s seen. He hasn’t ever seen you fight with him, and immediately, he wants to apologise, fix things before he’s pulled back out and he has to live with the guilt and overthinking of whether you’re still mad at him for the next week. 

“Can’t believe you’re mad at me during our vacation.” Namjoon says, and that’s why he’s in Hong Kong, he realises. He’s on vacation. How strange. Namjoon thinks back to when the last time he took a break from work and the only thing he can think of is when that doctor put him on medical leave not too long ago. Oh no, you’re mad at him on holiday?

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You retort back, and Namjoon has never heard your voice this curt. “Just sit around pretending like everything's okay?”

“What do you want me to do?” Namjoon replies. “You act like this is my fault!” 

“It is your fault!” You cry out indignantly, and Namjoon knows that, but why? What did he do? What did you do? “Is this even a vacation?”

“Yes!” Namjoon cries out again in response, and you shake your head. 

“You promised, Namjoon.” You say like it’s a warning. 

“Yes, I know,” Namjoon says, even though he doesn’t and really, what on earth did he do? “But this is out of my hands! I can’t just say no, you’re not looking at this from my point of view.”

“You’re not looking at this from my point of view!” You argue back, and Namjoon looks around, realising that this squabble is attracting a small crowd of chinese people, gathering around to watch the free entertainment along the sidewalk of Victoria harbour. He awkwardly laughs, raising his hand and bows, a universal sign of apology, grabbing your hand and walking to the other direction. 

“Come on, I’d rather not have the whole city witness our fight.”

“Oh, so this is a fight now?” 

“What? Yes!” Namjoon says exasperatedly. “How else would you classify this argument?” 

Once he makes it to somewhere with at least a sliver of privacy, he turns around with his brows furrowed and a glare etched on his features. Why do you look so angry? Namjoon chastises himself. Just relax, relax, relax. As usual, his body doesn’t listen. 

“Why are you so mad at this?” Namjoon asks, and feels a flow of relief go down his spine. Finally. 

“It’s not just this instance, Joon. I know work is important, but sometimes it feels like you put literally anything else above me! Like last time? You bailed on our date, like, at least twice. You keep saying you can’t say no, but you can. You have that right, Namjoon.” 

Namjoon’s heart softens a little bit. His workaholic tendencies ended up biting him in the ass after all. Sighing he rubs the back of his neck, eyes glued to the floor. “I’m not prioritising work over you, baby.” He tries to explain, and tries to ignore how his heart sinks when your eyes turn stony at the sound of the pet name he often uses to address you. 

“It’s just important to me as well, okay? It’s not my fault my boss heard I was going to Hong Kong and insisted I come to interview some investors about Hong Kong’s economy.” He explains slowly. “It couldn’t take more than a single day to get everything organised and tidied up.” 

“But-!” You huff angrily, spitting out your words. “You don’t understand! You keep doing this, Namjoon. You keep working, working, working. It’s been this way since college. It’s like you’ll die if you just take a break to come talk to me. I even went over to your office to have lunch with you last week and they told me you were in a meeting.” 

“It was important!” Namjoon insists and he can feel things sinking and getting worse and worse with every word he says. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? You can’t expect me to put you in front of all of my responsibilities. I’m sure you have things you can’t give up for me too.”

Hearing that felt like a slap to the face to both you and Namjoon, and he’s screaming at himself internally, why would you say something so, so, stupid?

“Excuse me?” Your broken voice rings out and Namjoon’s accusatory finger falls. 

“Wait.” He mumbles, fumbling with his hands. “Wait, I didn’t mean that. Wait, I-” 

“Fine!” You yell angrily. “You think nothing’s more important than work? You think I haven’t given up anything for you, Kim Namjoon? Because I’d quit and give up anything for you, you asshole.” You bite out, tears desperately trying not to fall. “You fucking asshole.” You say, before turning back around to weave through the crowd. 

“No, wait, baby!” He calls out, and even he knows that he’s messed up. Messed up big time. That was more hurtful than any cuss word or insult he could’ve ever said. “Kim fucking Namjoon, you idiot.” He mumbles to himself. Seeing you cry is more painful than anything else in the world, Namjoon thinks. He’s not ever going to see that sight again if he can help it. 

He walks forward, trying to find you. Maybe you went back to the hotel, or went to look at the sea to clear your head. He thinks he sees the back of your head for a second, and he reaches forward, clutching at air. He’s about to cry, and Namjoon has never seen himself be more pathetic. 

“Oh no, where are you?” He murmurs to himself like a crazed man. What if you were hurt somewhere? He needs to know you’re safe, he needs to know you’re okay, he needs to make everything better. With each step, the lead feeling in his throat grows heavier and heavier until he feels like it’s sunk to his chest. He wants to kneel down, he wants it to stop hurting, but he can’t. 

He must aimlessly follow his shell to do whatever he is doing now. 

The lead feeling continues to grow, and Namjoon feels like he’s suffocating. He’s not supposed to be here, he reminds himself. But he has to find you first, then he can leave. Then he can go, but where are you? He wants to cry, he wants to breathe. 

Namjoon tells himself to gasp for air, but he cannot. He tells himself if this is the last time he ever sees you, he needs to see you smile. He needs to see you laugh. 

Like the pattern in the rest of his meaningless life, an evil deity always pulls him away from the ones he loves when he needs them most. He feels the lead feeling being lifted and pure panic races to Namjoon’s head. He tries to croak out no. He tries to resist, he shoves people aside and calls out your name. But no one answers him, and the cruel deity laughs at his demise. 

He is too weak, too weak to control himself. 

Namjoon is plucked out of the world and transported back to his bedroom with the threads of time slowly ravelling and tangling themselves around his neck, all while he reaches forward, only to grasp at air and pretend in his head that everything’s alright. 

When he reaches his bedroom and wakes up, he stumbles into the bathroom and vomits, all while longing for the warmth of your lips.

-

Walking around dazedly, Namjoon somehow manages to make his way to Seokjin and Jimin’s apartment, knocking and hoarsely asking them to open, open up please. Because he’s not sure he can hold on to another night alone. Jimin opens the door instantly and catches Namjoon in his arms, frantically calling for Seokjin to come fast. 

They lay him on the couch, hearts slowly breaking and trying to convince themselves their friend will be fine as they watch Namjoon whimper in his sleep. 

Namjoon wakes to the smell of breakfast, of bacon on the stove and Jimin chattering around while watering his plants. He gets up, headache pounding and throat sore. Seokjin wordlessly hands him a few pills and a glass of water, while Jimin plates up breakfast, placing the sausage, eggs and toast separately on the plate because Namjoon can’t stand it when food on his plate touches. 

Silently, the three friends eat. Nobody speaks until Namjoon clears his throat and looks up. 

“Thank you.“ He whispers. 

“What are friends for?” Jimin says. 

Namjoon wonders why he’s got such amazing friends. Jin replies that he was born perfect and God created him like this, so Namjoon shouldn’t dwell too much on it. Jimin and Namjoon both throw a spoon of scrambled eggs in his direction simultaneously, high fiving without missing a beat when Jin lets out a protest of unjust behaviour. 

 As the three friends sit quietly, Namjoon says: “I think I’m going mad.”

“I’m glad you’ve realised.” Seokjin replies offhandedly. 

“I don’t think I can keep going between these worlds. I think it’s making me lose my mind.” 

Jimin stills. Seokjin stops washing the dishes and turns off the faucet. 

“Do… do you know how to stop it?” Jimin asks hesitantly. Namjoon shakes his head, and Seokjin sighs, in deep thought, which is a strange and rare sight to see itself. 

“Well, I guess we’ll have to figure this out together.” Seokjin says casually. Jimin agrees and the faucet comes back on, Seokjin going straight back to washing the pan he used to fry up the scrambled eggs. Jimin unplugs the toaster and Namjoon sits, smiling at his beloved friends. 

“You can borrow some of my shirts.” Jimin calls from the bathroom. “You know, if you want to stay over a couple more nights. Feel free.”

“Make yourself at home and shit.” Seokjin mutters, waving his hand around sarcastically. Namjoon almost bursts out into tears of happiness, but he decides to hold it in until Seokjin doesn’t have access to his phone and won’t put Namjoon’s breakdown on instagram live. 

The next day, the entire gang comes over, all with varying degrees of understanding what the hell is going on with Namjoon. For example, Yoongi pretty much knows as much as Seokjin does, who still doesn’t really understand what’s going on. Taehyung was just told Namjoon’s been feeling down because God knows that boy has a big mouth and definitely can’t keep a secret to save his life. 

Seokjin supplies homemade snacks and burgers fresh off the grill, Yoongi brings over his unlimited Netflix and HBO account passwords he probably stole off of some innocent family member to watch Disney movies, Taehyung comes over with Yeontan clutched to his side because that’s the group's emotional support dog. Jungkook and Hoseok offer up their extensive alcohol collection and bring over some quality wines. Jimin, after a long three hours of consideration, gives up his lucky plushies and fluffy blankets to build a fort. 

For one night, the seven boys crowds around the television, watching everything from The Lorax to Tangled to Frozen and bawling their eyes out when Anna turned to ice (spoiler alert!!!) For one night, the fully grown men all turn back into their 8 year old selves, playing video games and staying up as late as they wanted even though they all had responsibilities to tend to the next day. 

When they all awake from their mega-sleepover the next morning, the remaining six friends all insist they just felt like watching Disney movies and drinking wine suddenly. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Namjoon’s been feeling a little off in the past few days. 

Absolutely not. 

Namjoon’s eyes brim with tears and he tackles all the boys to the ground in one incredibly coordinated group hug, ignoring Yoongi’s complaints of being anti-social and that his love language is not physical touch. 

“Thanks, guys.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jungkook mutters. “Now could you please get the fuck off?” 

“Never.” Namjoon says, muffled because he says it while his head is buried in Hoseok’s chest. 

“Love you.”

“... Love you too.” 

The next time he falls, Namjoon thinks he’s prepared. Ready, not to get attached, ready to make clear of what belongs in his world and what doesn’t, after lots of pep talks and therapy sessions with Seokjin and Jimin and Yoongi, who is surprisingly helpful with shooting down ideals of toxic masculinity and talking about mental health. 

He’s wrong- he’s not ready, but he doesn’t know that yet. 

Click. 

He’s come to resent that stupid sound. In an instant, he’s dropped into a car, which is strangely familiar. You are next to him, driving, and thank goodness, because everyone knows Namjoon cannot drive. If he were dropped in the driver’s seat, things may have taken a turn for the worse. 

“You want to play some music?” You ask, and Namjoon nods. 

“Yeah sure, turn up the radio.” You reach over to flip a switch and a pretty tune fills the car, echoing and bouncing off the walls of the small vessel. You bring your hand down and interlace it with Namjoon’s, who is suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings. 

“You’re driving, baby.” He says, and a great sense of relief floods back into his system when he sees you smile at the pet name. He hopes this moment is after the Hong Kong trip. He hopes he did the right thing and made up with you afterwards. 

“We always do this. When there’s not many cars around, anyway.” You hum along with the music. “Nobody’s on the road tonight.” Sure enough, there are no cars in sight and Namjoon sighs, curling his hand tight against yours. He looks out the window. 

“No stars tonight, either.” 

You snort. “There are never any stars around the city, babe.”

“Ahh.” He huffs playfully. “Fuck global warming.”

“Fuck capatalism.” You add on, and he nods, wholeheartedly agreeing. 

“I love you.” He murmurs. 

“I love you too.” You reply with a sweet smile and Namjoon just realises that no, he’s not ready to let go of you, because his heart still flips like crazy when he hears you say that. He’s so unbearably, horribly, absolutely in love with you. Not in a creepy or obsessive way like he was probably in love with you a few months ago, but so in love with you. 

He wonders why on earth he’s so drawn to you, but as usual, there’s no definite answers to his questions. Namjoon thinks about how he likes the way you cook pancakes, and how he likes the way you always reach down to pet a puppy no matter where you are or where you need to be. He loves the way you’d give up anything to defend the people you love. He admires your bravery and your courage. He admires the way you present yourself to the world. 

He loves you simply because you are who you are, unapologetically and unashamed, which is something he never had the guts to do. But he gets pretty damn near to being fully and truly himself when he’s around you, so maybe that’s why he’s so in love with you. 

Namjoon feels bad for a moment because he realises his love isn’t selfless or humble like the ones he sees on dramas and TV. His love for you is shamefully selfish, because he needs you more than anything else. He voices this out to you in a long speech while you keep your eyes on the road. 

“I need you more than you think I do, Joon.” You say, while laughing, and Namjoon doesn’t know whether to feel offended or relieved. 

“You think your love for me can trump my love for you?” He asks with his eyebrows raised.

“One hundred percent.” You drawl out, and this time, Namjoon’s offended. 

“Excuse me? Who the fuck?” He asks, sitting up. You laugh bashfully, enamoured but mostly just entertained by your needy boyfriend who is very willing to prove how much more he loves you right now. “I love you way more than you love me!” 

You laugh, your eyes still fixed on the road. “Oh no, please, we’re not arguing about this.”

“Yes we are!” Namjoon demands with a huge smile on his face. “How could you possibly think you love me more than I love you?” Your laugh only grows louder. 

“I don’t even know if you’re being serious or just joking around anymore.” You say through bit back laughter. 

“I’m being dead serious.” Namjoon softens for a bit, laying a hand on your thigh. “You’re my everything. You’re my future, you’re my present, you’re my past.” A part of you wants to tell him he’s being cheesy again, but the romantic in you who doesn’t want to hurt your boyfriend immediately shuts the realist in you up. 

“That was sweet.”

“I try my best.”

You turn your head back to the road and he keeps his eyes on you. On the hoodie you’re wearing, which definitely doesn’t belong to you and he now has a certain inkling of where his missing hoodie went. He likes how it swallows you up. He likes that you have something of his on you. 

Not as a weird mark of possession, but he likes that you’re comfortable with wearing something that essentially brands you as his. But you are his as much as he is yours and wow, Namjoon thinks in his head, is this the real Namjoon or the past Namjoon speaking? And his brain replies that it’s both. 

“I love you.” He repeats, because as much as he seems to say it, he can’t seem to express how much he loves you (hint: it’s a large amount). 

“I love you too.” You say right back. 

He wants to say it more. He wants to say it better. He wants to repeat it until you get annoyed and tell him to shut up, he wants to let you know how much he loves you. But his lips are sealed, and he can’t say another word. Instead of what he wants to say, the words that come out his mouth are, admittedly, just as true. 

“You’re pretty.” 

You giggle. “Did you just realise?” 

Namjoon shakes his head. “You’ve always been pretty. You were pretty on the day we met. You were pretty the day we fought in Hong Kong. You were pretty the first time you stayed over. You’re pretty when you cry, you’re pretty when you… I wanted to think of something that rhymes with cry, but it slipped my mind and now everything’s ruined.” 

You laugh, a real, huge one this time. He can always tell when your laugh is real or not. 

“Thank you.” You say. “For the record, you’ve always been pretty too.” 

Namjoon leans back into his seat. “Damn straight.” 

“When d’you think you first fell in love with me?” You ask, genuinely curious, and Namjoon thinks for a moment. He thinks about what the Namjoon in this moment would say, and he thinks about what the present Namjoon would say. 

If he had verbal control, what would he say? That he fell in love with you during the very first memory he was thrusted in? But that wouldn’t be true, and that wouldn’t be honest. He fell in love with you during the memory of when you met? But that wouldn’t be true either. He fell in love with you in between memories, when all he could think about was the next time you could be in his arms, or how much he longed for your touch. 

He tries to say that, he really does. 

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is: 

“I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s a specific moment. Maybe it was that time we went to the movies and watched Coco while crying over popcorn, or maybe it was that time we went to Disneyland.” Namjoon’s heart slouches, because he doesn’t know any of those moments. He hasn’t been in any of those memories. 

“But I don’t think falling in love is a one moment, time stops kinda thing. I was always falling in love with you. From the time you spilled yogurt on my jacket to right now, where you’re asking me when I fell in love with you. I’m going to be falling in love with you tomorrow and the day after that, until the day where we shrivel up and die from old age.”

Oh, good answer, Namjoon thinks. 

“Good answer.” You say. “I think I’d say the same thing.” 

“Great minds think alike.” Namjoon sighs out. 

Something strikes Namjoon’s heart. It’s not the lead feeling or the heavy weight he’s grown used to. It’s strange, like a wave of deja vu. And suddenly, Namjoon stops thinking. He glances over to the control board to look at the time, which proudly reads: December 3rd, 2018. 

So that’s why he’s always had the feeling that these were memories. Why he was so adamant to believe these things really had happened to him. Even more strangely, what feelings strike him then is not panic, nor fear. It’s a strange flow of calmness that rushes through his veins. He looks over at you again, driving now with both hands on the steering wheel. 

He wonders why the deity would make him witness something as cruel and horrible as this, and he gets the weird feeling that this will be one of his last memories to enter. Namjoon looks at the dark blanket covering the sky and sadly thinks that the deity could have at least placed a few stars in the sky on this night. As consolation, or perhaps an apology. 

Something is ticking in the background, and Namjoon has no idea if it’s coming from the car or if he’s imagining it. Flashing memories go through his mind, so fast he can barely register them as images or moving pictures before they are gone again. Your smile, your laugh, your first date, your second date. The day he asked you to move in, the day you told him ‘I love you’ for the first time and he literally fainted. 

The day he came to pick you up from work for the first time, the night where he first laid his hands on you and kissed all your worries away. 

It comes fast and hurtles towards the two of you, but Namjoon doesn’t even see it coming because all he is looking at is you. Your face, your lips, your eyes, trying to engrave it all in his memory. You yelp out something to him, which he doesn’t hear. Floating images spin around both your heads and a high pitched screech rings out, a spark of orange lighting up like a stack of fireworks. The dark van shoots forward and collides into the driver’s seat. 

The world collapses. It goes sideways, rotates then flips completely upside down, and the dark fog starts to eat up Namjoon’s eyesight. Oddly, nothing hurts. Perhaps because of the shock, or panic, but nothing on Namjoon’s body is in pain. Everything crashes, Namjoon’s head hits the window with force. Something breaks, glass cracks, people scream and he cannot tell which is which. Red and white flashes are all he can see before everything fades to grey and he can only reach around in the darkness, to find your hand. 

He clutches onto your unmoving, still hand desperately, trying to calm his jumping heartbeat. Are those sirens in the background he hears or is that his imagination? Is that your voice he hears or is that a hallucination? 

In the end, his final thought before leaving the world once again is a wish. A wish that he prays the deity will grant him. He hopes that in your final moments, you were not scared. 

He falls. 

When Namjoon arrives home, his entire body is numb. He doesn’t know where he is, nor what he was doing before he was clicked in. He opens his mouth and screams for a full minute without stopping. 

It feels good in a fucked up way. 

Namjoon has never been one for confrontation. Just ask his middle school bullies, who tormented him all they wanted because he wouldn’t do anything but put up with it. Just ask Mingyu from work, who keeps piling his unwanted projects and articles onto Namjoon because he never protests or complains to the higher-ups. 

But while walking towards his childhood home with the birds chirping and his hands placed casually in his pockets, confrontation is all he can think about. He lets himself in the door; his mother never locks it and walks in calmly. 

His mother is sitting on the couch, stitching up a sock which has a hole in it. 

“Mom. I’m home.” He says softly, and his mother greets him normally. Namjoon leans on the wall and his mother stares at him strangely, calling him over to sit and have some fruit. He declines, telling her he won’t be staying very long. “That car crash that happened two years ago.”

The needle in his mother’s hand stills. 

“They said I had selective amnesia, right?” 

The needle picks up speed, stitching faster and faster, his mother’s hand moving faster than light. 

“What did I forget again?” 

“What did you remember?” His mother asks, never one to beat around the bush. 

“Mom.” He says, firmly this time. “What did you do to me.”

The sock is torn apart in his mother’s hands. “Namjoon,” She starts and Namjoon already has a growing urge to shake the truth out of her. “When you got into that crash two years ago, you came out of it with very little injuries. We were all so relieved. When you woke up, you didn’t remember Y/N.” All that fills the air for another moment or two is the spongy sound of silence. 

The gap in this family became clearer than ever to Namjoon. He thinks about how everyone must have been in on the secret, even his sister. And he was left to suffer, wondering why his life seemed so empty after forgetting something he couldn’t clutch onto. 

“And what?” He demands, screaming and throwing his hands out of his pockets. “Do you think you can just keep something like that from me? The love of my life, and you just decide to erase them from my memory?” His mother stills and looks up at her son. 

“You didn’t remember Y/N. You lost contact with all your college friends, and then when I asked the doctor how selective amnesia worked,” His mother cleared her throat. “Sufferers often forget some parts of their memory. Relationships, talents, skills, certain areas or certain people.” His mother looks up directly in his eyes. “Sometimes, especially after going through a traumatic event, people forget certain parts of their memory as a coping mechanism. To erase bits of pain and regret.”

“I thought,” Her voice breaks and her face twists in regret and bad memories. “I thought maybe by forgetting her, I’d be saving you from more pain and hurt. I just wanted you to stop hurting”

Namjoon held eye contact with his mother for three full seconds before collapsing and gasping for air, lying with his head on her lap. All words of scolding, anger. All the confrontational tactics and all the accusations he’d thought of shooting towards her had gone. 

“Hurts.” He let out through large gasps of breaths. “Hurts, mom.” He lied there, with tears threatening to spill out his eyes for the rest of the night, with his mother caressing his hair and apologising to him with tears in her eyes. 

“Miss Y/N. I miss Y/N.” He hiccups out, and his mother wipes away his tears, but it feels different from when you used to do it. 

“I know, I know.” The woman looking down at her son wonders why she put him in so much pain. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” The night carries on like that, with the lights eventually dimming and the night covers up the light in the sky. The mother son pair repeat their grievances and apologies to each other until the sun comes back up, peeking through the curtains and extending out their warm embrace as if it wants to comfort the hurting humans. 

It doesn’t take long for Seokjin and co to come knocking on his door, sent by his mother who must have filled him in on everything, judging from the looks on their faces. It only takes one single glance at his friends, tilting their heads and all asking to come in for him to burst into tears. Ugly crying, with snot coming out of his nose and eyes bloodshot red from the nightmares. 

Jimin is the first to reach forwards and bring Namjoon into a hug. Soon after that, the six friends surrounded Namjoon, comforting him with the warmth of their arms and soft spoken words of encouragement. 

“You did well.” Someone mumbles into his hair. 

“We’re all proud of you.” Someone else says. 

Namjoon’s sweater sleeves are sopping wet with tears when he asks the boys to help him get into therapy. 

Things went on like that for another while. 

Therapy isn’t as bad as Namjoon had thought it might’ve been. He wasn’t forced to be vulnerable or open up or confront his worst fears. He certainly didn’t want to tell the truth about the world he’s thrusted in, for fear of getting thrown out of the building and into a mental institution. 

Even his mother didn’t believe him the first time he told her about it. She urged him to visit a doctor. How could a therapist who doesn’t even know him believe the nonsense he spouts? Even he himself wouldn’t believe himself if he hadn’t experienced it firsthand. Slowly, but surely, he began to open up, and to his surprise, there was no calling of hospitals or kicking him out. His therapist sat there and listened like everything he was saying was valid. 

He started eating again, mostly because of Seokjin, stuffing his creations down everyone’s throats every two seconds, claiming he needs opinions on his new recipes even though Namjoon’s fairly certain that the past three dishes of spaghetti were the exact same recipe. 

Namjoon started to workout again with Jungkook, much to the younger boy’s surprise and happiness. They talked about their own struggles while panting on the treadmill and spinner. Jungkook eventually tells him that he also has a secret he keeps from the rest of the guys, which is his high school sweetheart who broke his heart so horribly that he still feels hurt from it. 

Jungkook told him to cheer up though, because most of the pain fades away with time. It’s still there, ever as present, but other things will become more important to you and cover up a scar or a wound with blooming flowers. 

“Like us,” He said cheekily. “Your friends.” 

He talked to Yoongi most days of the week about nothing in particular. He enjoys the time with Yoongi because he’s the only one who never walks on eggshells around him. He still pelts him with pillows and roasts the outfits on Rupaul’s Drag Race with him. Taehyung and Jimin even helped him adopt a dog, an furry white Eskimo named Rap Mon which is literally now Namjoon’s entire life. 

Would likely kill all of his friends if one of them hurt his precious baby. 

Life is good, Namjoon learns. He gets better at his job. He never forgets you, but things seem to hurt less. But he gets relapses sometimes. Some days he wakes up screaming about the stupid lead filling up his throat. Sometimes he gets nightmares so intense he has to take medicine.

Therapy isn’t as bad as he painted it out to be, but recovery is ten times harder than he thought it would be. Some days all he can do is lie in bed or do nothing, thinking of you. 

His therapist tells him that his life is more than his past memories. Both Yoongi and Hoseok agree, when he pulled up a random conversation about it late at night. Hoseok says that there’s never going to be a time where he won’t think of you, or still love you. Perhaps not as much as he once did, but he’ll never forget about you. Yoongi tells him he’s healing, and that they’re all proud of him.

Namjoon meets his friends, for the first time in the two years he’s known them. Taehyung has an extraordinary and (slightly strange) obsession over art museums. He’s been to almost every single one in Korea, and he dragged Namjoon over to one an hour away in Gangnam in the summer. Jimin is an amazing dancer, which Namjoon never knew.

Until Jimin brought it up casually, looking through old footage of his dance competitions. “Nothing big,” He said. “I used to dabble.” Namjoon’s eyes bulged out of his head and he told Jimin if that was ‘dabbling’, then he was wasting away his talent. He asked Jimin why he never made a career out of dance, and Jimin replied casually:

“I feel like if I start to make money off of it, and I’ll lose my love for it. Now that I haven’t really has time for it... I dunno. I feel like I’ve lost the talent a little bit.“

Namjoon told his friend that talent is nothing but a bunch of practice and time dedicated to a certain skill. Nobody loses talent, people just get a little unfamiliar with it. Jimin turned around in deep thought and told him he may just have a point. 

Still, some days, he can do nothing but sulk around, feeling like a waste of space. Take today for an example. He walks down the street and out of the corner of his eye, he thinks, and he might be wrong, he thinks he sees you. The back of your head, anyways, but you’re wearing a red sweater with headphones over your ears and you turn around the corner. 

Namjoon panics. He drops his coffee, which splashes all over his leather shoes and runs. He runs past the corner and he doesn’t know what on earth he’s doing but all he can do is run, and the wind dries his tears faster and faster, and he forgets all over again, that you aren’t here, that there’s no way he can go back and see you unless it’s in his memories, which he doesn’t even know how to control. 

Somewhere deep in the depths of his mind, he knows something about this doesn’t seem right. That it couldn’t possibly be you, because he watched you go right in front of his eyes. He knows that in order to heal, he can’t chase after you or center his world around you. He knows all of that. But in that moment, he forgets that he still doesn’t remember everything about you. 

He forgets that you’re dead. 

And one day he’ll be free from this constant spinning. One day he won’t ever have to think twice when he cooks pancakes but that day and all that work he’s put in is the last thing on Namjoon’s mind and all he can think about is if that’s really you. 

He sprints faster and reaches out, misses your wrist by an inch and ends up clutching at nothing but air. He heaves a huge breath, about to clap his hand over your shoulder-

Click. 

tags; @jksbbyfacebunny @extremeobsessions101 @dwcljh @bishuthot @s0seo @stonyiscanon @cecedrake2217​ 

[renjunfromthestars]

more than

Pairing: Mark + reader, Bestfriend! Mark, Childhood friend!Mark

Genre: Fluff, angst, honestly a little bit of crack LOL

Song recs: Best friend + Untitled + Waiting Room (Rex Orange County), Sofia (Clario)

Warnings: Mild swearing and mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 7.0k (my longest fic yet, wow!)

Summary: You’ve known Mark for all your life, and it only takes one drunken night (plus a little intervention with Haehcan) to think that you wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better...

Notes: The fact that I actually had the patience to sit down and to write something above 3k words,,,,absolutely astounding, amazing, unique, never been seen before…. Mark is a little awk and always works so hard (poor bby), so imagining him as a super stressed pre-med major and oblivious best friend absolutely wrecks me thank you goodbye

----

When you first meet Mark, you’re eight years old, and it’s at church. He’s dressed in his Sunday best: a light blue button up, khakis, and shiny dress shoes. He looks stiff as your mother introduces you two, with his shirt buttoned all the way to the collar.

It’s not that you dislike him, but you think he might dislike you, with the way he avoids eye contact, eyes tracing the floor, your shoes—anywhere but your face.

You see panic flash through his eyes when his mom gently pushes him towards you, telling him to take you inside and reserve a spot in the pews while she catches up with your mom. 

He shuffles awkwardly, and wordlessly, you follow him into the building.

The pews are almost empty, with the bulk of them being filled in the front by the old people that usually have nothing better to do on their Sunday mornings. Although your local church is on the smaller side, it feels unusually large with rows of empty pews, almost eerie. You shudder at shadows the walls make with the stained glass, and hurry to your usual spot towards the middle.

If Mark notices your apprehension, he doesn’t say anything. He’s oblivious, actually, not noticing your absence until he’s almost at the end of the rows. When you see him stop and search for you frantically, you stifle a laugh. 

He eventually finds you, and after shuffling awkwardly between the pews, makes his way to you. 

“This is kinda far, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

“Huh?”

“I mean,” he stammers. “I usually sit closer to the front. ”

You peer at him from the side. “You actually want to pay attention?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Well yeah, isn’t that the point?”

“I guess,” you say, looking at the ceiling. With the sprawling arches and patterns, the designs are pretty, you think. 

“You should at least try, it’s kinda interesting,” when you turn your head to look at him he turns away. “Only if you want to, of course.” he adds, fidgeting with his hands.

When you tell him that maybe you will, you see him crack a small smile.

It becomes a routine, almost every Sunday, with you and Mark sitting next to each other.  Whether it’s closer to the front or the back, it’s a whole debate. You usually give in, because when you walk in, Mark is already waiting for you in the front. 

….

“Do you still go to Church?”

You’re laying on a green bean bag in Mark’s dorm room, procrastinating on the midterm paper you were supposed to get started on, well, a week ago. 

You think for a second, hand raised to rub your chin, just to tease him. “What’s church?”

“C'mon dude, are you serious?”

“Barely,” you say, standing up to move to sit on his bed. “You should really get a new bean bag, it’s kinda deflated.”

Mark ignoring you, reaches over from his desk to fluff up the bean bag. “It’s because you sit on it so much.” 

“Are you calling me fat?” and before he can defend himself you finally answer him, “I stopped going in like, middle school. It would be hard even if I wanted to, to find a whole new congregation, and I’m just busy. Also, it’s so boring, I could cry.”

Mark perks up. “Not if you go with me.”

You groan dramatically, and Mark chuckles. 

“Good to know that you haven’t changed since you were eight.”

It’s just your view on church, that hasn’t changed since you were eight. First thing things first, you were 19 now, going on twenty. You’re in University now, your second year. It’s been a blur assignments, partying, coffee and term papers- you don’t have time to think about anything else right now. Except maybe actually starting your paper but-

Mark interrupts you midthought, breaking the silence. “Are you still with that guy?”

“Huh? Who? Yuta?”

“Yeah,” Mark responds sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

You roll your eyes. “No, we haven’t been together for a while. It wasn’t that important so I forgot to tell you.”

You can tell he's surprised about how unusually calm you are for talking about your first serious breakup, but he doesn’t say anything, instead just scratching the back of his head awkwardly in typical Mark fashion. “He was an asshole anyway,” Mark murmurs.

“What did you say?” you ask, acting shocked. “Mark Lee? Talking shit?”

Mark, embarrassed, refuses to repeat it. 

“I’m just saying, he wasn’t the right person for you.” he protests.

“As opposed to who? God himself?”

“I can think of a few,” he sighs, but you aren’t paying attention, instead laughing your ass off on his bed.

“You’re insufferable,” he says, standing up to open the door. “C’mon let’s go, I’m hungry. I know you’re not starting that paper anytime soon.”

…

It’s a routine, seeing Mark on Monday afternoons for lunch. Not Friday, because you were busy getting wasted, and consequently not Saturday, because you were too hungover. Not Sunday, because Mark had church, and you, well, were busy praying to God that you would be able to finish all the work you’d neglected over the weekend as a result. 

“I still don’t understand why you choose the worst day of the week for this,”  you say over your Kale caesar salad, pushing the leaves around aggressively. The University had a lot of healthy options, which you were grateful for. Grateful for you were not, were for the student loans you had to pay off every month, the exorbitant amount you partially owed to all the local and expensive organic produce the meal plan featured for the sake of being sustainable and health conscious.You could really give a rat’s ass about whether your salad was organic or not; if your weekends said anything about you, no amount of kale could help you (or your liver).

“It wasn’t really up to me,” Mark points out. “Maybe if you weren’t too busy being-”

“Ta ta ta,” you tsk, waving a finger around. “I, unlike you, actually have a social life.”

Mark frowns. “I have a social life.” 

Mark definitely had a social life. He was popular, even. As popular as you can be, being a preoccupied Pre-med with perfect grades. Mark is likeable. It’s not like he doesn’t have the opportunity to go on weekends if wanted to, he just chooses not to, deciding to slave away at biological functions, orbitals, and lab results instead. Even now, as he takes his glasses off to clean them, you notice the imprint they leave on his face from how long they’ve been sitting on his face, and doesn’t take you long to find the dark circles that grace the skin under his eyes: he’s exhausted.

You frown too. “You should really get out more Mark. You seem stressed.”

Mark gives you a small smile after putting his glasses back on, and then resumes typing on his laptop. “I don’t know how going out would make me less stressed,” he says, distracted. “I would only be more stressed, knowing the work I have to do.”

“Yeah, but you're pretty organized.” You point your fork at him accusingly, kale falling to the side. “Don’t you usually finish things early too?”

“Yeah, I do.” he admits,  and before you can press onwards you’re interrupted by a girl you recognize to be his lab partner.

Goggles in hand, you can see the marks they leave around her eye area, but she’s somehow still annoyingly beautiful, with her glossy straight hair and long eyelashes, but that’s not why you dislike her. She might be the most stuck up girl you’ve ever met. 

“Did you do the calculations yet?” she says, turning to Mark. ignoring you. It’s only when you cough in your seat that she turns to you. “And hello, (y/n).” An afterthought.

“Hello Yebin,” You give her a wry smile. “How's the lab?”

“The usual.” she glances at Mark, who seems to be doing some finishing touches on said calculations. “How’s Chem 2?”

Boy, does she really grind your gears. 

“It was fine, I actually placed out because I took it in high school.” Not to mention, it was a class for freshmen, and you were in fact, now a sophomore. 

Before she can say anything back, Mark claps his hands in celebration. “Done! Sorry it took me so long, I just had to double check some things.”

“It’s no problem,” and with the way her voice drips with a sickly sweetness, you want to gag. It’s so painfully obvious. “Are you still down for tomorrow?”

Poor Mark, always oblivious, stops typing on his laptop and looks up in confusion.  “Huh?”

You silently laugh at the expression Yebin makes when she realizes Mark has no idea what she’s talking about. “For our study session? The MCAT is just months away.”she reminds him.

Mark remembers. “Oh yeah, about that, I was thinking we could also invite-”

“Great!” she chirps, “See you tomorrow!” and with a flash of her white lab coat, she's gone. 

Mark scratches the back of his head. “I guess she had somewhere to be.”

You roll your eyes for what it seems like the 100th time this week, anymore and they might be permanently stuck to the back of your head. “She definitely likes you.”

“Who? Yebin? No way.” 

“Yes, Yebin, and yes way.” You fling a walnut from your salad over to his side, and he cringes.

“What is your problem?” he grumbles, and resumes typing on his laptop.

You drop the subject, because you know any talk on girls is completely lost on him. As you set aside your salad, you peer over at Mark, palm supporting your face. He’s focused, eyebrows slightly furrowed, with his lips mouthing over silently whatever science journal he was reading on his computer screen.

Mark has always been good looking, you think. You don’t know why you’ve never really noticed it before. His nose bridge gently slopes over his face, and his jawline is sharp, having lost his baby cheeks years ago. He works out often too, although he barely talks about it (maybe out of fear you’d tease him for being a gym bro). And with the way he’s so adorably awkward,  It’s no surprise really, that every girl friend that you’ve met of his seems to be completely smitten. 

Shaking your head, you snap out of it. It’s dangerous to think of Mark that way, you think. You’ve known him too long.

“My problem? I think you’re the one with the problem here. I’m surprised your hair isn't completely gray by now.”

Mark ignores you, probably mad at the fact you tried to start world food war three with him with a walnut.

“Hey.” you flick at his forehead to get his attention, and he flinches. 

“There’s a party this weekend at Johnny’s fraternity, you should come.” Johnny, being both your long time mutual friend (who’s demeanor is way too nice to fit the stereotypical frat boy image, really) who has since stopped asking Mark out of respect for his “med school grind”. 

“I’m already planning on it,” he responds, and you’re surprised. 

“Since when do you actually accept party invitations?”

“Since yesterday, because I’m tired of Haechan bothering me about it.”

You silently cheer, of course, you expect nothing else from Haechan.

…

“I never knew it was so hard to get booze.”

“It’s not hard if you’re 21.”

Scoffing, you turn your head to face the boy across from you. As if he can feel the burn of your gaze on his forehead, Haechan stops typing on his Macbook and lifts his eyes to meet yours. 

“No shit Sherlock, but last time I checked, we both weren’t 21.”

The sun had set a half an hour ago, and despite having spent the whole afternoon together, you and Haechan have had yet to come up with a way to secure the drinks you promised your friends for tonight’s pregame. With both of you being certified schemers representing your respective friends, you guess it wasn’t that big of surprise that the responsibility was left on both your shoulders. It beat scavenging alone, and spending time with Haechan wasn’t so bad either, when you two weren’t trying to kill each other. 

It was already late, and Haechan had deemed Ubering to the nearest packer store that sold Soju (the sweet sweet liquid of choice) was too much work. You on the other hand, had dismissed that option for a completely different reason. The issue in question was the flimsy, borderline pathetic excuse for a fake ID Haechan planned to use at the packer store. 

“Hey it works!” he protested. “You just act like you’re already legal and they don’t even card you. Easy.”

You roll your eyes as Haechan theatrically reenacts his last trip to the packer store.

“I asked him how he was doing, and he told me school sucks. I say to him, ‘Tell me about it,  thank god this is my last year!” and as if to emphasize his next point, he flicks his wrist in the air, ID snuggled between his index and middle finger. “And I was on my way. No issue at all.”

“That’s because he didn’t even see your fake I.D stupid. He would’ve called you out on your bullshit in an instant.”

Out of all the different options available, you could not fathom why he chose his fake ID to show that from all the places in this world, he was from freaking Hong Kong. There were fifty states to choose from, other English speaking countries, and he chose to pose as an  international student on a student visa. He could most definitely look the part, but after looking at the ID he proudly slaps on the common room lounge desk, you deadpan. The yellowish tint to the card was way too suspicious to be taken seriously.

“I wish we could just ask Mark,” you sigh, and Haechan looks at you like you’re stupid.

“He’s 20, ya dimwit.”

“I know, that’s why I said I wish. You have serious hearing problems.”

Haechan stops typing on his laptop to shoot you an especially heated glare, and you’re reminded again why he’s #2 on your fight list, right above Yebin. First place was taken by the girl you almost actually fought at that one University party a town over, wherever she is you hope she’s having a terrible day.

“If it were not for the rules of this land, you’d be dead right now Haechan.” 

Haechan places his head in his palms, and flutters his eyelashes disgustingly. 

“But you love me.”

“Yes, as much as Mark loves social events. Speaking of Mark, how on earth did you get him to leave his cave?”

“It didn’t take much,” and before you can call him out for lying, he shushes you.

“Okay, maybe a few days of nonstop begging.” Haechan says as his eyes dart across the laptop screen. You raise your eyebrow. “And I might have threatened to release pictures from the photoshoot his mom made him take when he was younger.”

“I expected nothing less from your evil, evil, mind.”

He scoffs. “Hardly. Just resourceful.”

Resourceful he is, because Haechan is the one who ends up finding a plug for the alcohol that night. 

…

A can of four loko, a bottle of soju, and a few shots later, you should be hammered, wasted even. But after 14 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days into college, your tolerance is pretty high, so you’re really just plain drunk. Even so, you’re a little messy (no surprise). You’re not in a state to be trusted with any errands, so you don’t understand why Haechan asks you to pick up Mark along the way to Johnny’s fraternity. 

“Why do I have to do it?” you whine, putting your hand over your forehead, and Haechan only laughs at your dramatic display of despair. 

“Because Johnny messaged me that Mark isn’t there, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him flake on me this time. ”

You point a finger at him, and he stifles a snort when you’re off by a couple inches. “Letting him flake on me, me, me as in you! It’s not my problem.”

But there’s no use in arguing with Haechan, and you know it. That’s why you find yourself stomping your way up the second floor of Mark’s dormitory like you’re in elementary school again, having just been scolded by your mom and being forced back into your room.

You knock at his door impatiently, and it feels like forever until you hear some shuffling, and see the door knob twist open. To be honest, it’s probably just a few seconds, but time is different when you’re intoxicated.

Before you even see him, it smells faintly of  shampoo and detergent, so you’re not surprised when he opens the door and you see his hair is still half wet from the shower. He’s definitely party ready, and when you mean party ready, he’s wearing the same loose black tee and grey joggers he wears to sleep. His socks don’t match and you try not to laugh, because it would be a bad look for you, to show up intoxicated, and apparently crazy. 

“Oh (y/n), what are you doing here? Oh shit is today Friday? I totally forgot, Haechan is going to kill me-'' He looks at you and then pauses, scrunching up his nose. “Have you been drinking?”

“No.” you say sarcastically, but it definitely falls short of Mark because he looks at you like he does not believe you. Good, because he shouldn’t.

He sighs, and ushers you in his room. It’s dark, with the only light emitting from the little steel lamp on his desk, which is covered with his notes, pencils, a textbook, and some highlighters. When you finally make your way to his bed (with difficulty) he sighs again, and you silently scold yourself for having that mini drinking contest with Haechan. If you thought you could handle your alcohol well, Haechan was an absolute monster. 

You nearly screech when Mark flashes a mini flashlight in your face, and he tells you to calm down before someone thinks he’s committing murder. He holds your face still with his index finger resting on your cheek and his thumb lifting your chin. You try your best not to squint when he tells you to, instead focusing on his face. He’s so close, you can feel his warm breath on your face. If you weren’t already so flushed from drinking, you suspect you’d look beet red now. 

“Well, your pupils still dilate normally, so I don’t think you have alcohol poisoning-”

The world is moving a little, so you plop backwards on his bed— albeit a little harder than expected because he rushes over to you and looks concerned. 

“-but I don’t think that’s the problem here.” he finishes. 

Your eyes are closed, mainly because his bed is really comfy. “I’m here to pick you up.” and as if to emphasize your point, you wildly start pointing in all directions, hoping it would land on him. 

You open your eyes when you feel him grab your finger and turn it thirty degrees to the left, just  stopping at his chest. Your sense of direction must be really bad, because it turns out you were pointing at nothing. 

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere for awhile”

“Noooooo” you wail, and Mark lets go of your hand to sit back down on his desk, and unsurprisingly, begins reading his textbook again. How he is able to focus with you in the background, you don’t know, but it must have taken years of practice.

At this point, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You shove yourself off the bed and grab his arms from behind him. His roller chair scoots a few inches before he stops it.

“You’re not exactly making great case for yourself here”

“Stop making excuses!” 

You aim straight towards the armpits, and you’re confused at the lack of reaction, so you reach over to squeeze his knee. Almost immediately, he crumples over, almost falling off the chair. 

“Can you-” he says mid laugh, “please” he gasps, “Stop that!”

You respond by attacking his other knee, and it’s over. He falls off his chair and you go down with him. The difference is that he recovers quickly, and starts tickling you back in revenge. 

You’re sensitive, so it feels like you’re dying. You try to use his arm as leverage to push yourself up, but next thing you know he’s toppeling over you. You close your eyes and wait for your head to kiss the cold hard floor but it never comes, because Mark's hand cradles your head, breaking the fall.

When you open your eyes, he’s closer than ever before, noses touching. Lips a mere centimetres away and in a weird embrace, you resist the urge to close the distance. 

Mark has always been good looking, especially now, so close to you. You don’t know why you’ve never noticed it before.

When he pulls away he’s flustered, and for the first time, so are you. 

It’s an awkward silence, with you still on the floor as he stands up, rubbing the dusk from his knees. He scratches the back of his head and offers you a hand 

“Let’s head out,” he says.

“Yeah, let’s.” you echo. 

…

Although Haechan berates you for being more than a little late to the party, he’s overjoyed that you somehow managed to show up with Mark. Not that he didn’t have faith in you anyways, he tells you. It’s just that Mark is married to his Biology textbook, and she runs a tight ship. By the time you reached the frat with Mark, you’ve sobered up enough to enjoy yourself normally, 

It’s when you wake up in the morning, that you’re not okay. It’s not okay, because you dreamt of Mark, and that’s weird, because you and Mark were just friends, right? And you always will be. 

It’s not a big deal because friends dream of friends. Dreams are a product of your own desires environment, you tell yourself, it’s perfectly normal because you spend so much time with him.

What is not normal, is when you see Mark the following Monday, and are worried about it. You’re nervous the whole time, and it gets worse when you slide the little watermelon filled tupperware container across the table in apology for last Friday. He likes his watermelon cut up into little cubes, you remembered (why do you remember?), and you avoid his eyes, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your face. 

Mark, oblivious as usual, doesn’t really notice anything until 10 minutes in, as if your lack of rambling surprises him. Munching on the cubes, he asks if you’re okay.

“Yeah, I am.”

No you are not. You are utterly fucked. 

…

“But you need to promise me you won’t judge or make fun of me for it”

“Just say it already, Jesus.”

“It’s just so embarrassing.”

“Oh my god, are you in love with me?”

“No!” 

When placing your hands in your face, Haechan grants mercy on you, patting you on the back instead of teasing you further.

“I don’t know what else could be so important that you need to talk to me in person. Unless…. it’s about Mark?”

His hands stop soothingly rubbing your back and instead starts slapping it, waiting for you to laugh along with him. When he doesn’t get a response he gasps. Turning his head sideways to face you, he pries your fingers apart.

“No fucking way.”

“Right?” you moan.

“I was just joking, but I can’t say I didn’t expect it.”

You remove your hands from your face and look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Like, you’ve known each other forever. You spend a lot of time together too. Someone was bound to catch feelings eventually.”

You don’t respond, instead choosing to sulk.

“You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it because you’re the loser in this situation.”

Right he is, because you’ve been avoiding Mark for the past few weeks like the plague. You’ve told him that you’ve been busy with your final term paper (you’re not, you’re an engineering major why would you have one?), and although he was a little confused, he was probably also a little thankful because the MCAT was only a month away. 

As you tell him about your plight, Haechan listens thoughtfully, “mhming” and “ahh-ing” at all the right places.

“I don’t see how ignoring him helps you at all. I would say to just talk to him about it, but it’s Mark, he probably hasn’t thought about you that way at all.”

“Thanks,” you grumble. “So I’m basically one of the boys.”

“No really, mans might as well be the anemone from Nemo, I’ve never seen him interested in anyone.” Haechan sighs. “This is a tough one.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something, but I might have to get creative.”

“I’d like to see you try Hyuck.”

…

It’s 9pm Sunday night, and there’s a knock on your door. It’s strange you think, because it’s a Sunday, and it’s a little late to be doing anything.

When you open the door, there he is, Mark Lee in all his 5’9’ glory, with a little bag in hand, in it your favorite milk tea. 

“It’s Sunday.” you say, intelligently. 

Mark just chuckles. “Yes it is, and your point?”

You step aside so he can walk in, and you’re embarrassed at your current state. For once, you’ve finished your assignments early, so you’ve spent the past four hours in your pajamas watching K-dramas and snacking on honey chips. You must look like a bum.

Mark on the other hand, always looks good, even in some old dress slacks, and an old t-shirt with some holes in it. He smells faintly of antiseptic, so he must have just come from a volunteering shift at the hospital. 

“It’s nice of you to drop by,” you poke the straw into the bubble tea. “And thank you for the bubble tea.”

“You’ve been busy recently so I figured you’d need it for the caffeine content, but it’s not like you sleep anyway.” he jokes. “How’s the term paper going?”

“The term paper? Oh right, the term paper. It’s alright,” you lie. “Just a couple of pages left. Beats having to take the MCAT though.”

Mark looks tired, with his hair slightly overgrown and his dark circles hallower than usual. You feel bad—he has a habit of overworking himself; you’re usually there to check on him but lately you haven’t, and he’s kind and thoughtfull enough to bring you something because he thinks you’re stressed.

“Yeah tell me about it,” Mark takes a seat next to you on your bed, head hitting the wall with a soft thump. “It’s going to be all over next week though, I can’t wait. I’ve missed you though.”

Busy silently cursing at yourself for the way your heart flutters at his admission, you forget to respond. Mark frowns, places his hand on your thigh in an attempt to soothe you, and it has the opposite effect—you think you might go into cardiac arrest. 

“Is something wrong?”

“N-no.” you stammer. “Just stressed. ”

Mark makes things worse by leaning in closer, gently placing the back of his hand on your forehead. “You’re kinda hot.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, like I think you may be running a fever.”

He hops off the bed, and rummages around in his little black bag, and pulls out a thermometer. He places a little sleeve on the end, and motions for you to open your mouth. When it beeps, he takes it out of your mouth and looks at the result.

“Your temperature is fine, but you should rest. I’ll see you soon okay?” He pats your head. “Take it easy, I know you’ll do great.”

…

You might not have a term paper, but what you do have is a physics final. 

The desk area is littered with eraser dust, crumpled paper, and half filled styrofoam cups of coffee that have since gotten stale. You swear to god that Physics was a subject meant to torture, not enrich the lives of college students. At this rate, you were seriously debating dropping out to become a stripper. 

Haechan, not sensing your dismay, disrupts your plans to drop out by telling you something that puts a damper on the rest of your day, as if Physics wasn’t doing that already.

“Have you noticed that Mark’s been hanging out a lot with that one girl lately? What’s her name? So-bin, Yee-ben, Ben 10, ”

“Yebin,” you snap. “And don’t ever disrespect Ben 10 like that again. ”

Haechan lifts his hands up, “ I agree she’s a total bitch, but man is she hot.”

“Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better, not worse?” 

Haechan’s face softens and for once in his life, looks a little sorry. “All I’m saying is if you don’t do something soon, someone might do it for you. I overheard her saying something about her and Mark going to spring fling together.”

He’s not wrong, but Mark, at Spring fling? At a Darty? Willingly? His idea of a good time was studying.

“You’re kidding,” you scoff.  “As if he’d be caught dead at something like that.”

“I don’t know (y/n). He doesn’t really have much else to do now that the MCAT is over.”

Right, the MCAT. He took it last week. You mentally slap yourself for not asking how it went. 

“Speak of the devil.” Haechan says quietly, motioning behind you.

There she is through the glass, Yebin, pulling a seat next to Mark, not before sneaking up behind him and planting a fat kiss right on his cheek.

…

Maybe if this were a movie, you’d cry all weekend and he’d make it up to you; But this is real life, so you secretly cry for a week and sulk for the rest of the month, blaming your puffy eyes on seasonal allergies (In real life, Mark can’t make it up to you because he did nothing wrong. He’s also not even aware that you like him, but that’s besides the point).

Despite Haechan’s attempt to convince you that it could’ve been just a friendly kiss, a greeting kiss, a whatever kiss, you insist that you’re done with your little crush, that it had shriveled up and died. Although not so convinced, Haechan drops the subject all together and instead resorts to comforting you in his own way, which mainly just consists of making fun of you about other things.

Mark is a touchy subject, and you’re still avoiding him. Why? You don’t really know. You know it’s not fair to Mark, who is probably very hurt and confused at your lack of communication. Nonetheless, he doesn’t question it, and is so infuriatingly mature with his emotions that you suspect that he even respects it, because he stops texting you after a while. 

You feel bad about stonewalling him, leaving him in the dark, but really, what would you say to him? 

“Sorry-I-haven’t-been-talking-to-you-it’s-just-that-I’m-in-love-with-you-and-I’m-butthurt-that-you-have-a-girlfriend-of-course-it’s-not-really-your-fault-but-”

You shudder at the thought, because it’s just plain embarrassing. 

But really, you’re not the best at expressing your emotions—you’ve never been. Frankly, you’re tired of expressing your emotions because it never got you anywhere. Not with your mom, not with your dad, and definitely not with Yuta, who you dated for a year and half a year just to dump you like you were nothing. 

It’s not worth it, to put your emotions on the line for anyone, not anymore. You locked your heart away a long time ago, and you were a fool to let it come out last time, and you like to think you learn from your mistakes.

At least, that’s what you think, until you return home one Sunday night from the library and see a little cup of your favorite milk tea at the door, with a straw neatly balanced on the top. 

…

When spring fling rolls around, you still haven’t spoken to Mark, and if your friends catch on, they don't mention it. They know by now that you prefer to deal with things alone, to digest them for what they are and then promptly moving on—you know, like processing a death. 

It doesn’t really matter, you think. You and Mark have always been friends, and will always be friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And when you get over yourself, things will be fine. 

But really, how can it be fine when your whole world stops every time Mark looks at you?

You try not to dwell on it, even now weeks later. You’re busy getting ready to go out, blotting your lipstick on some tissue paper in your friend Yuna’s bathroom. 

“(y/n), you look amazing.”

When you turn to look at yourself in the mirror she’s right; The mascara you put on your lashes really brings out the color of your eyes, and your skin (thanks to Yuna’s highlighter compact) is literally glowing. You feel really pretty.

You turn to smile at her. “Thanks to you.” you tell her, and she gets bashful, pushing you out of the seat and ushering you out the door. You make it down stairs no problem, but she calls you as soon as you walk out the door.

“Yes, I have blotting papers with me, and no, I am not dating Haechan I’ve told you thousands of times-”

“What about me?” 

You turn around to find Haechan leaning against the dormitory wall, already waiting. 

Embarrassed, you tell her you need to go and hang up the phone. 

“How long have you been standing here? Hopefully not too long.” You apologize, but he assures you it’s all right.  

“Are you sure your friends are fine with you leaving them early to go with me?”

“Yes Haechan, they’re just happy that I have someone to go with.” you sigh. “Almost too happy.” 

He laughs, after looking at you, he pauses. “You look nice.”

“You do too, Hyuck.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say he seems embarrassed at your compliment. 

When you walk into the venue, you’re not surprised at how spacious it is. You’re used to your school going all out, from the kale salads and now, spring fling. They might as well call it spring semi-formal, because everyone is dressed their best. 

You see Johnny at the end of the punch table, and he waves, motioning for you two to join him. 

“And my favorite couple,” he greets you two, and you almost smack him upside down the head. 

“Relax, I’m just kidding.” and he leans in for a hug. “How are you (y/n), I haven’t seen you in a second.” 

“I’m good, just been super busy. You were so right, Professor Kim has been really keeping me on my toes in Physics 430,” you laugh. “Every time I walk into the classroom I can feel my life flash through my very eyes.”

He laughs, and you all laugh with him. Johnny tends to have that kind of effect on people.

“How’s Mark?” he asks, and you cringe. “It’s been a while.”

You laugh nervously  “ I haven’t seen him in a while either.”

“Oh really. Don’t you see each other every week?”

“Well we used to,” you panic. “Just not anymore because, you know, I-”

“Because you’ve been so busy,” Haechan finishes.

Johnny gives you two a strange look but continues talking anyway.

“Well that’s life. Poor boy’s been studying for the MCAT like his rent is due tomorrow.”

“More like everyday.” Haechan snickers. 

Johnny doesn’t hesitate to flame Haechan for his insolence, and begins teasing him for almost failing Calc II (Calc II was kind of hard you admit but that is an admission that will die with you), meanwhile, you’re whisked away by Yuna and her entourage. You glance at Johnny and Haechan, who bid you farewell with a nod of their heads.

It’s fun, you’re having a great time dancing, and eating mini hot dogs on a toothpick (you guess your university had to cut corners somewhere). When Roxanne plays, you and Yuna go wild, nearly knocking over a waiter over with a silver tray. You have so much fun, that you forget that Mark Lee exists until you make eye contact across the floor. 

It's no surprise that he’s with Yebin, who looks annoyingly prettier than usual, with her makeup all done and satin dress. She’s pulling him in the opposite direction, but Mark seems to pay no mind, instead staying in place, looking at you. A moment passes, and you see him excusing himself. When he begins to head your direction. You panic. 

Before you can even react, you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close. When you finally turn to see who it is, you’re nose to nose with none other than Haechan.

“What are you doing?” 

“Just go along with it,” Haechan whispers through his teeth. Your hands are pressed against his chest, and he grabs one of your arms, placing it around his neck.

“Go along with what? Have you lost your mind-” 

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips press against yours and your mind goes blank. He tastes like peppermint and aftershave, with his lips soft in the center and just a little chapped around the edges.  

When you two finally part, Mark is nowhere to be found, and you don’t know how to feel. 

“Haechan I-” you stammer. “I need to go.” 

You hurry off, and he doesn’t follow you. 

…

When you’re outside, it’s  cold; the air is brisk and definitely doesn’t help steady your breathing, it only makes it harder. It’s a lot to process, Mark, Yebin, Haechan. It’s a lot, and you feel like you’re in emotional overdrive, with all the feelings you’ve been trying to keep in for the past few months coming back to bite you.

You sit down at the edge of the fountain outside the venue, and you nearly get soaked. It misses you by mere inches, with the ceramic fish looking at you almost mockingly. You don’t care, with all the thoughts running through your head right now, you think you might go insane. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there at the fountain when you feel something wrap around you, warm like it was just taken out of the dryer. It smells familiar, like cologne and faintly of antiseptic—it smells like Mark.

You don’t look at him when he sits down next to you, legs open, hands crossed. And he doesn’t look at you. It’s radio silent.

“So you and Haechan, huh.”

“So you and Yebin.” you echo. 

Mark looks at you for the first time, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh that.” He shuffles awkwardly. “I don’t really like her like that.”

Your head raises in surprise, and you face each other for the first time in months.

“I thought you guys had a thing.”

Mark scratches the back of his head. “Well we do, but it’s just in her head” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. “She came onto me last week, so I finally set things straight.” Noticing your reaction, he just shakes his head. 

 “I don’t think it worked though,” he adds.

“I would think, you’ve always been too nice for your own good.” 

“I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings, you know?” he murmurs. “I feel terrible.”

“You’re not a terrible person just because you don’t like someone back.”

“Maybe not, but I believe not wanting you and Haechan to be together does.”

It takes a moment for his words to register within you, and even after you process them, you’re not sure what to say.

“We don’t like each other like that.” you interrupt him.

Mark looks visibly confused. “Then you and Haechan aren’t??” his voice falters.

“No more than you and Yebin. I promise you it’s not what it seems like.” you tell him and it finally clicks. You’d have to thank the idiot later. Right after you slap him.

Mark doesn’t question it, not even when you start crying. You don’t question it either, unsure of why you’re crying. 

“You’re so stupid,” you sniffle. “I’ve liked you for so fucking long.” 

Mark pulls out his pocket square to gently wipe the tears from your face, and places his hand on top of yours. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? You could have just said something.” his says softly

“I didn’t want to ruin anything. We’ve always just been friends.”

“I think we’ve always been just more than that.” he says, leaning in, hands cup your face gently. 

 “Just took some of us a little longer to realize.”

....

“That was very nice of you,” Johnny says. 

“Yeah. Very nice.” Haechan echos. 

“How long has it been, that you’ve liked her for? Three years?”

“Two going on three.” 

Johnny lets out a low whistle, and looks down at the younger boy worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Haechan glances at you and Mark through the glass, outside the venue. With Mark whispering in your ear and you laughing, you seem so happy; happier than you’ve ever been with him.

“Yeah, I am. More than okay.”

[komfortkiri]

QUIRKLESS!KATSUKI BAKUGO x QUIRKLESS FEM!READER x QUIRKLESS!EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

WORD COUNT: 1,362

TW/CW: GUNS, GUN WOUND/BEING SHOT, MENTION OF DEATH, CURSING, DEPRESSION, PANIC ATTACK (If I missed anything, please let me know).

NOTES: I submitted this from my iPad so if anything looks funky, that’s why. I’ll fix it tomorrow. I just really wanted to get the second chapter of this series out.

It was Friday morning, 7 AM. Your hundreds of alarms already sounded starting from 6:30. You were supposed to already have been at work but dread took ahold of your emotions because you knew that you’d have to look at somebody new by your side for however long. Your boss had already texted you but he knows how hard the last several months have been so he takes it easy on you but you know that won’t last forever.

You rose from your bed, getting ready. You put on your usual button up, white, collared shirt that was long-sleeved then slid on a pair of black dress pants, tucking your shirt into it. After, you stepped into a pair of black heels that weren’t too high and then put on a black blazer. You looked into the mirror, sighing heavily. You looked like shit, you knew that. The dark circles were becoming more visible. It was so hard to sleep at night when all you saw when you closed your eyes was Bakugo.. lifeless on the floor. You couldn’t even begin to count how many nights you woke up screaming or hyperventilating. Even meetings with a therapist weren’t helping you and you didn’t know what to do anymore.

Without further thought, to prevent yourself from crying till your eyes were bloodshot, you threw your hair up into a ponytail and headed to work.

Once you arrived and walked through the doors, the front desk woman gave you a smile and a good morning. All you offered in return was a small smile that was clearly forced. Once passing the front desk, you walked to where your desk was but found that someone had made their self at home. Kirishima was sitting in your chair, working on some paperwork that was attached to a clipboard. “Are you lost, hot tamale?” You said as you approached him, standing directly in front of the wooden furniture, eyeing the red head with curiosity.

“I’m starting to think that you find me hot.” He responded while writing something down then sat back in the chair, his eyes meeting yours. You raised your brow, “Please don’t flatter yourself this early in the morning. I’m more likely to tell you to fuck off.” A smile formed amongst his lips and that confused you. Did he think that was funny? “Why are you smiling like that?” You crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for his humorous response.

Kirishima turned to the side, grabbing a Starbucks coffee cup from the small table next to the end of your desk. “I asked Clark if you liked coffee since he knew you so well and he told me your favorite place to get coffee and what you preferred.” He held it up toward you, flashing a bright white smile. “Hazelnut coffee, extra sweet.” You felt heat rush to your face almost instantly. Damn him. You were such an ass to him yesterday and just a second ago and he turns out to be.. a sweetheart? You cleared your throat, hoping that the shade of red on your cheeks would go away. “T-Thank you..” That was all you could say because you were so surprised that you really couldn’t say much else. With how you acted yesterday, you felt like you didn’t deserve an ounce of kindness from him. “Not a problem at all. I wanted to do it.” His response made your heart race but in order to calm it, your mind wanted back to you being unsure as to why he was sitting at your desk.

“So.. Were you just waiting for me or did you just coincidentally pick my desk to sit at?” You took a sip of your coffee, internally melting over the fact that it was the right amount of sweetness that you liked. Impressive. “Well, I wanted to personally give you your coffee so I guess you could say I was waiting for you. Clark gave me some paperwork to fill out but after I’m done with this, we are heading to the gun range.”

Your body froze. Gun. Shooting. You didn’t even realize but your body went into shock. Your face became pale and images of that day flashed through your head. From your gunshot wound to seeing your significant other dead on the floor… You forgot how to breathe.

Kirishima noticed and immediately jumped up, putting the clipboard down and circling around to grab you as softly as he could. You felt his touch and you snapped out of it, taking a huge gasp of air. “Y/N, are you okay?” Your eyes filled with tears but you looked up to keep them from falling, answering in a soft, shaky voice. “Y-Yes.. I’m okay.” It was clear that you definitely had something wrong mentally and it was becoming more obvious now.

You looked up into Kirishima’s eyes, noticing the panic in them. Was he really that worried for you? I mean, someone having a panic attack is scary but it seemed like something more. Maybe you were overthinking it. “Do you want to skip that part for today?” He knew now what had just happened so he avoided saying anything related to guns again, to prevent another attack. “I can’t skip it. If I do, it’ll prove I’m not ready to go back out onto the field and I’m ready.” You nodded, knowing this could be detrimental to your health in the long run but you felt there were some risks worth taking.

Although your new partner wasn’t entirely sure continuing was a good idea, he didn’t want to step on any toes so he nodded, hoping you were right.

You both walked to the gun range part of the building, both suiting up into the appropriate gear. You took long, deep breaths to calm yourself because the last thing you needed was to have a panic attack while firing a weapon. You felt a hand on your shoulder and you jumped some, looking over to see that it was Kirishima. “I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to ask if you were ready?” His tone was soft, it was almost endearing. You nodded and you both started your training.

Surprisingly, you made it through without losing your cool but you were shaking pretty badly afterward. You took off the range gear, returning it to its designated spot then took a second to sit down. Being around guns again after so long, in your eyes, was a big step. So big that you literally had to take time to really process it. Kirishima approached you, sitting down in the chair next to yours. “For what it’s worth, I think you did great.”

His voice snapped you out of your train of thought and all you could offer him was a small grin. Your emotions were on overload so you didn’t say anything to prevent bursting into tears. He took a large breath before saying anything else, “I’d like to get to know you since we’ll be partners. That’s only if you’re okay with that. Maybe we can go out for lunch tomorrow since it’s Saturday and we both have the weekends off?” It was nice that he was trying and you’d feel like an awful person if you turned him down. “Yeah, sure. I normally spend the weekends hiding out in my apartment anyway.”

Your apartment may have been a constant reminder that you were now alone, but it honestly was a place you could just cry as much as you wanted without fear of judgement. “If your apartment is your comfort zone, I would hate to bring you out of it so.. why don’t we order pizza and chat?” Kirishima seemed like a good guy and when he offered that, you didn’t feel like he was trying to make any type of move on you so you nodded. “I don’t see why not. I guess it couldn’t hurt to have company over.”

You gave your new partner a soft smile, reassuring him that you were serious. Maybe having some type of socialization will help you start to heal.

[nejiraez]

checking in | bakugou katsuki

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO HIMMM / more to come on this blessed day

genre: fluff/comfort

summary: bakugou goes visits your house to check up on you, as a good boyfriend would. you’ re doing anything but fine, but that’s alright. that’s why bakugou’s there//inspired by ‘🥺anon’ and an ask in my inbox!

word count: 2,008 (luv that year~)

"I don't think Aizawa-sensei is telling us the whole story."

Bakugou doesn't look up from his notebook, still jotting down notes onto his page for his class in world history. "You think?"

Despite his friend's guarded demeanour, Kirishima still pushes on with the subject. Your absence in school was a little odd, but Aizawa reassured the class that you were staying home due to "quirk complications". "Yeah, I mean, three days straight is a long time for someone to be gone," he says, "especially for (Y/N)."

There's an unexplainable expression on Bakugou's face that Kirishima couldn't quite read. Worry lines formed near his brows due to how tightly they were scrunched. And his eyes, his eyes were vacant. Almost as if he were lost in thought. "I know."

"You've recently spoken to (Y/N), right?"

"Yes," Bakugou hisses. His writing comes to a complete halt and instead, he opts to play with the lead in his pencil absentmindedly. Your curt responses to his text messages and slight avoidance of the topic him bringing up your well-being threw him off. It wasn't like you.

"And you know what's happening?"

"I have an idea of it, yes."

Kirishima leans against his chair and rests his elbow on the backing of it. Bakugou doesn't like that look on his face. The way the corner of his lips curl into a small smile as if Kirishima knows something about him that he doesn't.

"You know," Kirishima says, "it's okay for you to say that you're worried." He knows that pride was an issue for Bakugou. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he did care. "I think it'll do both of you some good if you just went to their house and—"

Bakugou's expression immediately sours, "Don't tell me what to do." He packs up his belongings and shoves his work into his bag. Disregarding the fact that his papers may be crumpled due to his negligence. "I was gonna do that anyway."

Ah, there he was.

'It'll do both of you some good if you went to their house.'

And that's just what he did.

The minute the bells rang at the end of the day, indicating that students could go home. Bakugou made no waste of time by elbowing his way past his four idiot friends and went straight on the path to your house.

'Just be patient. You can't expect (Y/N) to be in the best of moods when you arrive.' Kirishima's words echoed against the walls of his head. Another piece of advice he shoved into Bakugou's head before he left school.

Pressing the doorbell to your house, Bakugou waited for a solid three minutes before you answered the door. And when you did, he was taken back a bit. He hasn't seen you for the majority of this week and you just look... different.

"Bakugou?" Your hair was dripping wet and, the water droplets soaked the hem of your white tee-shirt. You looked a bit disoriented at the fact that your boyfriend has shown up at your house. "What are you doing here?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Bakugou adjusts his grip on the bag of food he was holding. He replies, "Checking in on you."

"Oh?" You exclaim, a bit confused at his comment. You weren't expecting this at all. "Then that's alright."

There's an uncomfortable pause of silence that hangs thick in the air. You still stood at the door, unmoving, almost as if you didn't want Bakugou inside. For whatever reason.

Bakugou frowns at how you were still standing at the doorway, unmoving. "You gonna let me in or what?"

"You... want to come inside?"

At this point, your unusual behaviour was wigging him the fuck out.  "Isn't that the whole point of what 'I'm coming over' means?" He questions. "Didn't you read my text?"

You open the door and give Bakugou entry, "I was showering." His scarlet eyes flit over to your hair again, now it made sense why your hair was soaked.

The house was empty, save for the furniture and all. However, there were no signs of your parents being home, to which Bakugou assumes that they were at work.

Before he forgets, Bakugou grabs your arm and plunks the bento box he's made for you into your hands. "I brought you something..." he mumbles, fighting back the urge to acknowledge his pride. It was a real habit of his.

You take a quick peak inside to examine the contents, and realize that he brought your favourite meal. Stir fry. "Thank you!" You say, smiling for the first time since he's arrived. "Here, come with me. I'll take you upstairs." 

He kicks off his shoes and follows you up the steps towards your room.

Once the two of you step inside, you feel Bakugou’s hand catch your wrist.

In an abrupt fit of sudden affection, he smooths down the stray strands of hair away from your face. "You shouldn't be answering the door for people with your hair wet," he catches a droplet of water that was trickling its way down your neck with his thumb, "or you'll get sick."

You nod your head and ignore the pressing feeling of Bakugou's eyes on you. You knew that he came here for the sole reason to check up on you. And it made sense, especially your absence at school lack of response to your friends and him. "I know, I was getting to that."

"When'd you shower?"

Bakugou watches as you pat your head dry with the towel that was on your desk. You shrug, "About an hour before you came."

Well, that was fucking odd.

Another question bubbles in his throat, but he decides to let it slide and doesn't press any further. 

Why did it take you so long to dry your hair? He doesn't know, but Bakugou wasn't a complete fucking idiot to continue pressing on the matter since you were giving off clear social cues that you didn't want to be bothered on it any longer.

Ever since that dreaded Kamino incident, the annoying task of listening to people's concerns hasn't gone away. God does he knows what it's like to have people on his back. Constantly questioning on his wellbeing and current state. Almost as if they were pitying him. Something that he fucking hated.

There was only so much Bakugou could do, but he understands where you're coming from. Which is why he dropped it.

"Are you doing okay?" He asks, watching as you pace around your room, tidying up the clothes on your floor and throwing them into your hamper. 

Bakugou is aware that you're able to fend for yourself. That you weren't helpless brat who needed to have their hand held through every tough decision. He knows what you're capable of and has seen you at your best.

However, the condition that you were in now was anything but that, and he was troubled by it. 

Your once tender and vivid (e/c) eyes, were now deprived of any emotion. Bakugou focuses his eyes on your damp hair and the drained expression on your face. All things he found to be chilling because it wasn't like you at all. 

"Could be better, but it's alright. I'm fine." You mutter, dropping yourself onto your bed once the floor was clean. You scootch over and make room for Bakugou so that he could sit beside you rather than stand at your doorway.

When he does finally join you on the edge of your mattress, the extensive number of wrappers on your comforter take him by surprise.

"Are you eating?"

"Yes, this - " You're about to lift one of the granola bars as proof that you did eat, but Bakugou was having none of it. He pushes down your hand and fixes you with a piercing stare.

"Real. Food."

An exasperated sigh escapes you once you notice the unimpressed look on Katsuki's face. "You brought me rice and stir fry, so I'll eat that, won't I?" 

That didn't answer his question though, which made it clear to him that you haven't been eating. Casting your stubborn nature aside Bakugou decides that he wouldn't beat around the bush anymore.

Saying that you weren't hungry is one thing, but blatantly putting your health aside and disregarding your needs was something Bakugou refused to swallow.

"Look at me (Y/N)," he says, his hand presses against the outline of your jaw and cradles it. The scent of caramel fills your nose while the pads of his fingertips glide across your skin.

"I know it's hard. Trust me, I fucking know baby." Bakugou was nervous and on edge. He's never done this before and has always been on the receiving end of comfort. But now's a better time than ever to try. 

"But you're not gonna get yourself anywhere if you continue like this."

You cast a watery glance away from him and offer a slight nod. "I know..." His hand slips from your cheek towards the back of your head so that he could card his fingers through your hair as a means to placate you. 

"I know." You reiterate for a second time with much more force, trying to convince yourself once that stinging pressure in your chest throbs against your ribcage like a war drum.

Bakugou pushes your face into his shoulder, sparing you the distress of him seeing you cry and your situation as a whole. "I'm not good at this, but just know that I've got you." He ignores how the collar of his uniform absorbs your tears and the lasting effects of your shower. "So quit thinking you're bearing this alone because you won't, as long as I'm here."

And that's more than enough. 

Maybe it was the overwhelming wave of emotions being released all at once which made you cry. But it was strange. To be crying yet feeling so relieved at the same time. To know that Bakugou would be there to support you if needed. 

Through your sobs and tears, Bakugou doesn't make any comment on it. Rather, he sits there unnaturally quiet, taking into consideration how you must have felt the past few days.

There's a moment of unspoken words shared between you both before you pipe up. "I'm going back tomorrow," you say, wiping away any trace of tears on your face before you face Bakugou. "It's what I originally had planned."

"You are?" He holds his eyes with your own, looking for any hesitation but backs off once he sees there wasn't any. The last thing he wanted happening was for you to push yourself when you didn't need to.

"Then your ass is gonna need this," Bakugou says, shoving a notebook into your hands. "So you don't fall behind and join those idiots." You could pick up on how he was trying to lighten the mood by referring to his friends and their poor grades.

Glancing down at the notes that Bakugou had written for you, you notice that there are a few scribbles and poorly drawn diagrams on the page as if he were rushing to get it done. 

Bakugou half-heartedly scowls at the sly smile creeping its way onto your face and reminds himself to stay composed, to not lose himself altogether from your shift of mood and the effects it has over him.

A warm and unwinding feeling resides within his chest while he watches you flip through the pages. 

"Your writing's a little messy, you know?"

"Well— fuck me for trying to help, right?" He says, snatching the notebook away from your grasp. He tucks it under your pillow and out of view, hoping that you'd drop the subject of his messy handwriting.

"I will," you reply, squeezing his knee. You don't miss the quiet sputter of his words and how he fumbled over them at your sudden brazenness. "Thank you, Bakugou. Really."

You could be a real pain in the ass sometimes. But as long as you were feeling better...

"...Whatever."

That's all that mattered to him.

bakugou’s bday tag list (more in the comments): @tooloudarts @awkwardvampires @lilhemmo @itsbabyysunnyy @charvaughn-writes @lmaobroccoli @bakugoustanaccount @plusultratempo @wynaut @cin-midnight @hipster-merchant-of-death @peachy-yabbay @i-need-to-yeet-right-into-a-wall @wondxrgurl @gaydrowzee @blubblesss @amayau2 @restlessshadow @huntersbunker @thoughtfulpandazine2​

[pinkoushi]

Haikyuu captains with an s/o with anxiety

characters: kuroo, daichi, bokuto, oikawa, ushijima, all x gn!reader

warnings: descriptions of anxiety attacks, maybe a hint of angst on the oikawa one but nothing too bad

A/N: hellooo this one is roughly based off of my anxiety and anxiety attacks, so it’s a bit unintentionally focused on social anxiety..oops?

KUROO

the arena was packed, karasuno's game was an intense one, something Kuroo had predicted, and had asked you to go with him. your relationship was new, only having started 2 months ago, and you were flattered that he wanted to take you to go watch the game.

but, there was a problem that Kuroo didn't know about. you had anxiety, and were trying to go off your meds for the first time. this situation wouldn't normally be a problem, but with the lack of aid from your meds, you were quickly starting to feel overwhelmed. Kuroo and the people around you were focused on the game, screaming and cheering for the teams on the court, the tension in the air put pressure on your chest and slowly made it harder for you to breathe. your pulse was quickening, breathing got harder and harder, and tears started to well up in your eyes. the panic was starting to set in and Kuroo was oblivious to it all. you tried all your soothing techniques, but none worked. minutes felt like a lifetime as the panic rose and eventually broke down your wall, tears spilling down on your cheeks and you quickly stood up and hurried off the bleachers.

you found a bench near the infirmary where it was quiet. tears poured out of your eyes, muffled sobs left your lips as you desperately tried to calm down.

Kuroo was still watching the game, unable to tear his eyes from the tension. Yamaguchi was getting put in as a pinch server, something that was surprising to pull out this early, and Kuroo turned to you to explain what a pinch server was, when he realized you weren't there. his eyes darted around, trying to find you, and eventually asked Akaashi, who had been sitting next to you, where you had gone.

"hm? oh they left… about 10 minutes ago?" Akaashi said, only taking a brief look at his watch before continuing intensely watching the game.

Kuroo got up, suddenly very worried that something had happened. he hurried down the stairs, first checking the bathroom, and then finding you near the infirmary, crying quietly.

he rushed to your side, wrapping an arm around you, causing you to gasp.

"what's wrong (y/n)? are you okay?" he softly said, rubbing gentle circles on your arm. you couldn't answer, the anxiety attack squeezing your throat closed. Kuroo didn't pressure you, only sitting by your side, gently holding you. the attack calmed down, and your breathing got steadier.

"I'm sorry." you whispered, looking up at Kuroo, who was giving you a questioning look. "i should have told you, i have anxiety. that… was an anxiety attack." Kuroo gave you a kiss on the head before speaking.

"you have nothing to apologize for, but please let me know next time when you feel like you're getting an anxiety attack, okay? i hate the thought of you feeling like you have to deal with it on your own. we're a team now, right?" he smiled softly, and you nodded.

…

you stayed there until the first set was done, Kuroo softly telling you about what you had missed, all while still holding you close.

DAICHI

"darling, it's okay, we're not lost." Daichi said, despite knowing full well that you were very lost. karasuno had a game in Tokyo, and you had decided to tag along, partly to support your boyfriend and his team, and partly so you and daichi could do some tourism in the big city. all was going according to plan, the game was in the evening, so the team had decided to go on their separate adventures around the city. you dragged Daichi along with you to find some niche store you had heard of online. the store had been harder to find than you anticipated, and it was getting closer and closer until the team was supposed to meet up again.

"Daichi, you're supposed to meet up with the others in an hour and we have no idea where we are!" your hands were shaking, trying to read the map you had picked up at a souvenir shop. "okay, i think we're here? so we should follow this street." you said, pointing at a street lined with shops.

Daichi, however, had noticed your shaking hands and quick breaths.

"hey, (y/n), can i look at the map real quick?" he asked, taking the map from you. "yeah, so that would be the quickest way back, but i think we should take this street and then go that way."

"but that will take us 20 minutes longer to walk, if we go the quickest way we'll be back in like 40 minutes." you were trying to force your hands to stop shaking, opting for holding them together, and trying to make soothing patterns. you knew very well that an anxiety attack was coming up, but you were working with all your might to calm down to get Daichi back in time. you started going over the route in your head and biting off the skin on your lips.

"it's okay," Daichi said as he put his hands around yours, "I'll call coach Ukai and tell him we're going to be a bit late. your health is also important (y/n). they can head to the arena and we can meet them there." your breath was quickening and Daichi pulled you in for a hug. the dam burst and you started crying, shaking in his grip.

"it's going to be my fault that you're late, you should go without me." you managed to gasp out between sobs. you felt Daichi hum and shake his head.

"nope, not going to happen. the team can wait, they'll understand." he pulled away, only to hold your face in his hands and looking into your eyes. "you're the love of my life darling, I'm not going to leave you, not now, not ever."

BOKUTO

Bokuto may be dense as hell sometimes, but when you told him about your anxiety and anxiety attacks, he made a conscious effort to be more attentive. you had told him about the situations that usually would trigger your anxiety, and how to help you. Bokuto had even written these things down.. and then lost the paper. nonetheless, he was always on guard to help you in every situation possible.

one of your triggers were giving speeches, something you had told all your teachers, and most of them understood, except your English teacher, so when he handed out the assignment for speeches, he paid your anxiety no mind and had just told you to suck it up and that he didn't give special treatment.

the night before the speech was due and you were practicing in front of your mirror. English wasn't your best subject, and with the added pressure of the speech, you were having a difficult time memorizing the speech. after running through it for the 20th time, you let out a frustrated huff and dropped the paper on your desk, sinking to the floor. your mind was working in overdrive, counting up everything that could go wrong during the speech tomorrow. what if you tripped on your way to the front of the classroom? what if you dropped your paper? what if you mispronounced a word or said something wrong? what if, what if, what if? your felt the tightening of your chest, a warning of an upcoming anxiety attack. tears welled up and spilled over, sobs and shaking overtaking your body. you reached up to your desk with a shaky hand to grab your phone, quickly pulling up Bokuto's contact.

"hey hey heeey (y/n)! how's my favorite person doing?" Bokuto said as he answered the phone, you could hear the sound of people talking in the background, and Akaashi saying hello to you. crap, he wasn't alone.

"hi." you choked out, another sob overtaking you. you could hear your boyfriend's whole demeanor change.

"what's wrong? are you okay?" the screeching of a chair was heard, most likely Bokuto getting up and walking away from his friends to talk to you in private.

"the speech" you quietly said, tears still streaming from your eyes, your lips quivering.

"the speech? what speech?" Bokuto asked, mind not fully connecting the dots. you let out a sob, not being able to focus on giving him an explanation. suddenly, it all clicked. "ah wait, that English speech? i thought you had gotten a pass from all your teachers?"

"not from him." you whispered again, gasping a little for air, as the anxiety sunk deeper into your chest.

"that ass! okay, just hold on I'll be right there, you're home right?" you hummed in agreement as you heard the rustling of his jacket. "okay, you're okay, I'll be right there babe, don't worry we'll figure something out."

you nodded, breathing starting to get slightly easier. "i love you."

"i love you too" you could hear him trying to suppress a smile, "do you want to keep talking while i run to your house?"

OIKAWA

"ah thank you so much!" your boyfriend, Oikawa, said with a flirty smile to one of his fangirls. she had made him (and his team) volleyball themed cookies. Oikawa's smile made the girl blush and look away, saying something about how it was nothing, to which Oikawa insisted that it was very much something.

his fangirls were somewhat comfortable with him, some having stuck around for years and going to all of his games. your loving boyfriend insisted that they meant no harm, but their dirty looks and demeaning comments about you told a different story.

"does your partner bake for you, Oikawa?" one of the girls said, sending you a mean look as you stood with his team.

"no, they don't like baking." Oikawa said, still smiling sweetly.

"aah a partner that doesn't bake? aw, but you deserve to be treated with home-baked goods all the time!" the girl said, several others nodding in agreement.

you watched as one of the girls got confident, reaching out to touch his hand while saying "i would bake for you, Tooru~", her voice was sickly sweet and the rest of the girls watched in shock.

your breath hitched, heart beating out of your chest. Oikawa had his back to you, but you could see his shoulders tense at his first name being used.

"really? thank you so much!" Oikawa said, shoulders still tense, but you could hear the smile when he spoke. if he could only stop being polite for two seconds.

panic overtook you, he didn't reject that girl's advancements? you could hear the murmuring of their voices as they kept talking, but the sound of your heartbeat was drowning it out. your breath was quickening, tears slowly welling up in your eyes.

weren't you good enough for him? was he going to leave you for some fangirl? one who bakes? and spoils him? one who has been there since the start… it would make sense. your relationship was pretty new, and before dating him you didn't even really know of the volleyball team at school. of course he was going to leave you for one of them! you're not as attractive as them, not as devoted to his passions… not enough.

tears started falling from your eyes as you hurried away to the bathroom, escaping from Oikawa's flirty nature and the girl's nasty looks.

your sobs echoed in the small bathroom, hands shaking as you desperately covered your mouth to muffle the sound. your mind was spinning, the panic sitting in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

suddenly, a knock at the door.

"(y/n)? are.. you crying?" it was one of the volleyball members, a voice you recognized but couldn't place.

"i'm fine!" you said, holding back a sob but failing. well, that's embarrassing. you could hear his footsteps, running back to the team. seconds go by, you try to calm your breathing to no avail.

footsteps can be heard again, different ones but going faster.

"(y/n)? (y/n), babe, where are you?" it was Oikawa. you let out a whimper, enough to draw his attention to you. he knocked on the door.

"baby? are you okay? can you come out here please?" concern swallowed his voice, making your heart ache. you unlocked the door and walked out.

his eyes were full of worry when they met yours, your tear stained cheeks and shaking frame broke his heart.

"oh sweetheart, i got you." his arms wrapped around you, kissing you on the head and rubbing slow circles on your back. "do you want to talk about it?"

you let out a small sob, grasping the back of his shirt. "I'm not good enough for you."

any remaining pieces of his heart broke. he hugged you tighter, hoping his admiration for you would seep through his skin and on to you.

"(y/n), you're more than enough. you're everything to me."

USHIJIMA

university applications. the current target of your anxiety. you and your boyfriend of two years, Ushijima, were studying in the school library together, something you tried to do at least once a week. he was across the table from you, hand laying flat next to his textbook, the other neatly writing down notes. the library was quiet, only occasional coughs and turning of pages bouncing off the walls. quiet. too quiet.

math wasn't your strongest subject, something that made it very easy for your mind to drift away from the questions on the paper.

your grades had been slipping, not a lot, but enough to drag down your average. you're smart, but this being your last year in high school has put it's pressure on you. the looming university applications drifted into your mind, suddenly math seemed to be the least of your problems.

can you still raise your grades? or is it too late? what happens if you don't get into university? what if you miss one crucial question on the application and you automatically get dismissed and you don't even find out?

your grip on your pen tightened, mind reeling and breath coming out short.

your dear boyfriend however, was oblivious. his focus was entirely on his homework, knowing full well that he will get scolded by the coach if his grades drop too low.

but eventually, your erratic breathing caught his attention, him looking up just to see a tear fall from your eye and land on the open math textbook.

"what's wrong?" he said, hesitating before putting his hand over your shaky one.

a sob slipped past your lips and you slapped your hand over your mouth, panic flashing over your eyes as you jumped out and ran out, embarrassed by the loud noise. Ushijima hurried after you, quickly closing his book while doing it.

he finds you further down the empty halls of the school, curled up and shaking.

"(y/n)." he says stoic as ever, but you can see the worry behind his eyes.

"it's the uni applications.." you say, quietly, while letting out a shaky breath. Ushijima moves to sit down next to you, an arm going around your shoulders to pull you in to him.

"it's okay. you're smart. you will get in to your dream school." he tries the words of encouragement, and they help. the two of you sit there for a while, allowing you to fully calm down.

[darling-i-read-it]

Roti

1x11

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems 

Author’s Note: Will graham I will die for you any day of the week just text me 

I took lines directly from the script so some may seem familiar. Those sentences are not mine. 

Official Episode Summary : The BAU team searches for Dr. Gideon, who has escaped custody and intends to kill psychiatrists who have profiled him; Hannibal misleads the team in order to get Will and Gideon in the same room; Jack questions Dr. Chilton about Gideon's escape.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List: @llperfectsymmetryll​

(not my gif)

It was snowing steadily outside when you went to sleep that night. There were a few inches above the ground by the time your consciousness slipped into no man's land. You woke up slowly, looking at the other side of the bed where Will had fallen asleep. The blankets had been kicked off of both of you and you were freezing the second you awoke. 

Will laid on his back, body tense but still asleep. Sweat clung to his gray shirt. He was hot when you grabbed his arm and he instantly woke up, staring at you with scared beady eyes.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whispered and he shook his head looking around to get his bearings. 

“Is this real?” he asked, voice wispy. You nodded quickly and scooted closer to him.

“Real,” you told him. When he looked at you his eyes pleaded and you sat all the way up, looking down at him. “Let’s go outside.” He nodded and clung to your arm as you got out of bed, wiping the sleep from your eyes. You led him outside and you stood on the porch, the dogs running past you into the yard. It had stopped snowing.

He shook beside you but it was colder outside. You didn’t touch him in fear of making him even hotter.

“Take the day off,” you whispered. 

“I can’t.” 

The alarm went off inside.

-

“You dodged a bullet Chilton. Gideon’s escape foregoes a trial and a very public humiliation for you,” Wil said as you walked together into the office of Frederick Chilton.  You looked around curiously. Will had asked you to come, having serious concerns that this time around they might not let him out. You were to be a trainee, if anyone asked.

Chilton sat behind his desk and raised an eyebrow at the sight of you. 

“Who’s this? I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.” 

“Y/N Y/L/N. Trainee,” you said, shaking his hand. Will grabbed your arm and pulled it back quickly. He didn’t want any part of Chilton touching you beyond that handshake.

“They’re letting trainees come on such high profile cases now?” Chilton paused, looking between the two of you. “Ah no, you’re thee Y/N. I wasn’t aware I was in the presence of such a high profile couple.” Will let out an annoyed sigh. 

“We’re here to talk about Gideon,” Will said simply.

“How do you do it? Is there a part of you that hates your boyfriend's mind?” Chilton asked. 

“You sound like Freddie Lounds,” you said and he feigned hurt

“I can see where you like each other.”

-

Work that day was hard. 

Hannibal noticed.

He gestured for you to come into the office just before Will’s appointment. You stepped inside. You had never been in here alone with Hannibal you were pretty sure. With Will, heck with Tobias or Jack but never just with Hannibal. It made you feel like a patient. 

“How is Will?”

“Will is terrible but you know that already,” you whispered. You trailed your finger along his desk and turned around.

“Why don’t you have a seat in the chair?” he asked as you hoisted yourself up onto the desk.

“It makes me feel to much like a patient. When I’m on the desk I’m an observer. I don't’ have to have any input on what you and Will discuss,” you told him. Hannibal walked over to you and leaned against the desk beside you. “He wakes up at night sweating through the sheets, almost crying,” you whispered. “He doesn’t know if I’m real when I comfort him.” You stared straight ahead at the art on the walls. You took a deep breath in.

“How does that make you feel?” Hannibal asked.

“Broken hearted,” you breathed. “LIke I can’t help my best friend. Because I can’t.” You finally looked over at Hannibal. 

“You’re doing the best you can,” Hannibal said. “That is occasionally all we can do.” You shook your head and while  you stared into Hannibal’s eyes you felt a pull. An emotional pull you hadn’t felt beside him anymore. You pushed it away quickly, looking back at the wall.

You felt an angry lone tear go down your cheek.

“It isn’t enough.”

“Do you consider yourself in any of this? Perhaps that by attempting to take on WIll’s problems you are making more problems for yourself,” Hannibal suggested.

“I don’t care about me or my social life right now. I care about Will.”

The door, which was open, was knocked on as Will walked inside. You wiped your eyes and pushed yourself off the table.

“Am I interrupting?” Will asked. You shook your head and walked over to the door quickly, eager to leave Hannibal to it. Will grabbed your arm before you could leave. You quickly stopped. 

“Yeah?” 

“I-” he started. “I’m sorry about this morning.” You shook your head and put your hand to his cheek lovingly.

“Don’t worry about it. Have a good session thing,” you said quietly and he let you go. He thought about asking you to stay but thought better of it. He knew that he was hurting you daily by being like this and he hated seeing you hurt almost as much as you hated seeing him hurt. 

You shut the door behind you and Will’s eyes welled with tears.

“She loves you,” Hannibal said. “Very much.”

“Glad to know someone will always be in my corner,” he muttered. “Even when I’m not.”

-

With Gideons escape you were worried about pretty much everything. You sat on your own desk outside the office as Will and Hannibal talked. To get your mind off things you called Alana. 

“Hello?” 

“You alive? Is this the Chesapeake Ripper?” you asked. Alana laughed mockingly.

“Gideon isn’t the Ripper,” she told you.

“Still.” You paused. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m better than your boyfriend. Speaking of, you need a vacation when Will regains his stability for putting up with him. I can’t imagine living with him.” You sighed.

“He cuddles well. Good kisser. You get any hot protective detail?” She hummed a no.

“Thinking about giving into Hannibal's flirting,” she muttered.

“Hannibal's been flirting?” you asked. You kicked your feet around. This was what you needed. A girl talk.

“Sort of. I can’t tell.”

“You're a psychiatrist Alana, how can’t you tell?”

“Because I can’t be my own psychiatrist.” The door to the office opened. Will’s eyes were filled with water.

“I gotta go. Be safe.” You hung up the phone and stood you, bringing your hand to Will’s face. You wiped the tears and noticed very quickly how hot he was. “Wil you’re burning,” you whispered.

“I’m naturally hot,” he joked dryly.

“Shut up. What is your temperature? Take some aspirin.” 

“We can check later and I just took some. I just wanna go home.” YOu nodded stiffly and glanced at Hannibal behind him. He gave you a solemn look of pity. You wrapped your fingers around the side of Will’s neck and it ached with the heat. 

-

Alana handed you a bowl of ice cream and you took it, sitting on the chair in her office. She sat on her desk facing  you and the window.

“If you get killed hanging out with me Will is never going to forgive you,” she said, pointing her spoon at you. You took a bite of your ice cream and then pointed  your spoon at the men around the room, watching.

“If he gets through them perhaps it was fate,” you suggested. “Plus Will told me to come.” It was true. When Alana invited you for dinner Will practically shoved  you through the door. The hunt for Gideon was on and he figured it would be safer with a detail than with him at work. 

He almost dropped you off at Hannibal’s but decided against it when he thought about it. 

“I hope he’s okay,” you whispered offhandedly.

“You don’t need to worry about him,” Alana said.

“It’s literally my job as his girlfriend to worry about him.” Your foot bounced nervously.

“It’s why I didn’t date him when I had the chance,” she said.

“Because he’s to much work?”

“I didn’t know if he was stable or not.” You nodded slowly.

“But you like Hannibal whom is likely hiding his instability,” you said. She laughed and shook her head.

“I never said I liked him. I just said he might be flirting.” 

There was a shot outside the window. You stood up quickly and looked outside to see Gideon on the ground and Will, kneeling beside him.  You dropped your bowl. It broke.  You ran out the front door and quickly skidded to the ground beside Will, grabbing his arm. He looked at you and for a moment you weren’t sure if he recognized you.

“Real or-”

“Real. Real.” You put your hands on his cheeks and he was still burning. He put his head on your lap and you looked at Alana who had just come outside. “Call Jack. And Hannibal.” She nodded and ran back inside to get the phone.

You held Will on your lap, somehow calm, running your hands through his hair wildly to get  him to stop shaking.

-

Hannibal met  you at the hospital after talking to Jack. You sat beside Will’s bed, his hand in yours as you looked at his unconscious body. You were still crying, so scared for him.

“His temperature was 105, degrees and I didn’t make him go to the doctor,” you whispered. Hannibal shook his head, walking toward you. He pulled up a chair and sat beside you.

“You can’t blame yourself for this,” he whispered.

“What did Jack say?”

“Nothing you want to hear right now,” he told you. “I swear I will rip that man's head right off hi-”

“It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.” 

Hannibal took your other hand and you let him hold it as you stared at Will, your face tear stained and puffy.

“Will he be okay?” you whispered.

“Will’s going to be alright,” Hannibal whispered but he honestly wasn’t sure anymore.

1x12

[wehatejulietsimms]

TW: ab*se, t*rture, su!cide, mental il!ness, ab!eism

So, before I forget, we really need to discuss Scientology (quick note: if you're easily grossed out and/or are already terrified for Andy, I suggest not reading this).

Scientology. Not only is their whole 'religion' a scam to avoid paying taxes and the police coming after them for all the controversies surrounding them because of the religious freedom America grants in the Constitution, but their religion has been dumped on quite a few times because the founder of it, L. Ron Hubbard, is a science-fiction author. Their beliefs are that Xenu, the leader of the 'Galactic Confederacy', brought billions of people to Earth in a spacecraft, stacked them with volcanoes, and then blew them all up with hydrogen bombs. They also believe that humans are 'Thetans', immortal aliens who reincarnate into child's bodies (which is why they treat children like adults, they believe children are just adults in children's bodies) and live in one eternal lifetime. Sounds a little like something straight out of a science-fiction book, right?

But to stray away from the religious part of it, let's focus on the parts that make me sick:

1. Scientologists punish people if they question or talk back to them.

2. They cut people off from their social life, work, family, friends, etc. and engulf them in Scientology only and try to cut off any ties to the outside world.

3. They force women to have abortions while at sea because they believe that no child should be born at sea.

4. There have been many allegations of abuse against staff and members.

5. They enforce child labor and have many allegations of child abuse.

6. The Sea Org, a Scientology organization, makes people sign a billion year contract.

7. They're ableist and don't believe in psychology, doctors, medicine, mental health, etc. and force people to take vitamins in replacement of their prescribed medicines, which caused multiple suicides and murders.

8. They're extremely greedy. In fact, what they claim to be the 'Bridge to Freedom' that puts people 'in the Clear' is given through million-dollar books and classes, and when a person almost reaches the last level before they reveal the 'big secret', they claim that more works have been 'found' and that they must start the process all over again to pay thousands of dollars again.

9. They're homophobic. While they believe that mental illnesses like anxiety, depression, BPD, schizophrenia, etc. and even physical disorders like arthritis and the common cold are caused by a 'reactive mind' that causes 'ailments' and can be healed through saunas and sci-fi lessons, they also believe that homosexuality is also an 'ailment'.

10. The whole religion thing only started because the IRS came for them with billion-dollar debt and they retaliated with 'We're a religion' so the IRS let them off the hook (and they filed lawsuits against every single person working in the IRS and were the very first people to 'beat' the IRS and get away with tax evasion).

11. They have absolutely no scientific evidence to prove any of their theories towards 'healing' their members or their alien beliefs.

12. Every single story of someone who has entered the Church of Scientology ends with them getting hundreds of text messages, emails, phone calls, letters, etc. from the cult asking if they want to join or be 'audited'.

13. Practice indentured servitude.

14. One girl was 'allegedly' held prisoner on a boat that belonged to Scientology for eleven years.

15. They claim that they have over ten million members worldwide, but that's only because they count everyone who enters a building or buys one of the books, not every actual member. The real number is about 25,000 today (down from 50,000 in the 1990's).

16. Read the story Hollis Jane Andrews, a woman who was interviewed to be a nanny for Scientologists' children, and the list of requirements were absolutely bat-shit crazy. It read things like 'If the kids hurt themselves, keep them quiet and apply Dianetics'. 'If the kids start crying take them outside'. 'Take them for a run and throw rocks and run with them', 'Don't stop them running ever', 'Whilst they are asleep you magically transform into a cleaning nazi', 'No phones of your own at all during work hours', 'Tidy up the bathroom, empty out the stinking poo poo bin', 'Clean the bathrooms', 'Do the laundry', 'Clean their bedrooms', 'Look for more to clean when you're finished', etc.

17. Shelly Miscavige, the wife of Scientology leader David Miscavige, hasn't been seen in the public eye since 2007, and whenever anyone asked about her, David would throw a fit of rage (some people suspect she's being held prisoner in 'The Hole', which I'll talk about later).

18. Their 'rehabilitation centers' are literally just prisons.

19. In Bible classes in some Christian schools, they have students do a project where they go to a different church they weren't a part of and do a study on it. One girl went to the Church of Scientology and the teacher explained why the students shouldn't do that and now 'Church of Scientology' is on some lists of churches the students are not allowed to go to for that project.

20. For most- if not all- of the members, they have them read a few books/courses then take them to an underground sauna everyday for weeks straight without a single day off, make them run for thirty minutes, put them in a sauna for four hours, and give them high doses of Niacin (or concentrated Vitamin B) that made them sweat profusely to release all the toxins their body, and then they take you on to the 'Bridge of Freedom' to work on your mind.

21. David Miscavige's father, Ron, left Scientology and wrote a book about him where he stated that David hit and beat people multiple times (Leah Remini confirmed this).

Now let's talk about the Gold Base. The Gold Base is the international headquarters in San Jacinto, California in the San Jacinto mountains. In the Gold Base (which is huge and holds the giant mansion Hubbard used to live in), there is an 'alleged' (hint hint) dungeon prison called 'The Hole'. Scientology members get sent there if they violate the code of ethics (from doubting Scientology to merely pissing off the leader). It can house up to 100 people and there is no furniture. People sleep cramped on the packed floor or on desks, it's infested with bugs, people get tortured there, people are humiliated and abused, a lot of racist, sexist, and homophobic actions take place, some are forced to walk on all fours for hours while confessing to the 'crimes' they've committed (sometimes, crimes they haven't), and there's literally no way out. The Hole is surrounded by razor-wire fences (with razors that point in both directions), motion detectors, cameras, and even snipers. So the question is, why hasn't this been shut down or investigated? 'Religious rights' under the First Amendment.

And that's all I have to say about Scientology for now. If anyone wants to know about exactly what Scientology believes they're doing to people's minds with auditing and Dianetics, just let me know and thanks for coming to my TED Talk ✌🏽

this is why Andy can't "just leave". i know everyone wants him to and i wish it were that easy but some people just are unaware of the power that these people have. i hope he'll get out in time and it's looking good for him but it'll take awhile.

(also i'm not claiming Andy has ever been subjected to anything listed i'm just saying these people have a tight grip on people involved in the church so Andy can't just leave.)

[btsslowburnfic]

Born to be Yours Ch. 10

Story Summary: For Namjoon, the moment he set his sights on being the #1 rapper, he pushed the symbol to the side and hated it. Love should be chosen, not forced on you. He didn’t believe in fate and this mark on his wrist was a big “fuck you” to all that.

Chapter summary: Life after you and RM part ways goes back to normal until an accident changes everything

Previous chapters found here: Chapter 9

You are surprised that life does in fact go back to normal. You and Xavier make up and get back to working with smaller local groups after the awards season ends. Things with you and Ben get back to normal; you become a master of using heavy foundation on your soulmark when you’re at home. The summer tour is amazing. You and Xavier traveled to 32 states in 4 months. You find yourself following Twitter and Weverse to see what RM is up to. And you sometimes found yourself thinking about that night the two of you spent together. You mostly try to push it out of your mind though. Even though you told Xavier and he randomly brings it up.

“Right here? On this desk!?!” he asks, running his hands over the surface.

“Yes. And don’t do that, it’s weird and gross.”

“How was it? Describe it to me again.”

You chuckle a bit and roll your eyes, “No. I told you once so I could get it out of my system.”

“Ughhh you’re so boring.” he whines playfully.

“Shouldn’t you be reprimanding me about being a terrible cheating slut?” you raise an eyebrow.

“No. I ship that shit.” he responds, sipping on a smoothie. “Have you eaten yet?” he asks

You laugh and look through your phone. “No, I had a zoom meeting with Gina at noon and then I covered spinning class.” You press some buttons on your screen. “There. I just ordered. I’ll see you in a while.” You stand up and put your flip flops back on.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you in pilates tonight.”

You toss your bag over your shoulder and put your sunglasses on as you step out the door. You look both ways and start to cross the street as you hear a screeching sound. The next thing you hear and feel is the sickening crunch of bone hitting glass. Tires screeching away and then everything is black.

----------------

Namjoon occasionally finds himself thinking about you. Mostly when he accidentally slams his body into a door frame or cuts his finger. He always says he’s sorry and then kind of feels like an idiot for apologizing to no one. He also thinks about the night the two of you shared together quite often and had made Jhope send him those photos he took.

He’s happy to be working and on tour again. It’s been a fun summer. They wrapped up the Asia portion of their journey and were well into Europe now. As usual, the filming crew was in the green room as they were preparing for their second night at Wembley. The first night had been amazing. He couldn’t think of anything that made him happier than being in front of ARMY, especially when they were singing along to the songs he wrote. He smiled as he scrolled through his phone while he had his makeup touched up. 

“10 minutes, 10 minutes.” Management called out.

“Alright guys, let’s get it.” he yells through the green room.

They gather around and do their chant. The minute they step out of the green room they can hear the fans roaring and cheering along to the pre-show videos. They each go to their respective starting positions and wait to hear the signal. 

They open quick and fast with “On” and the crowd is absolutely pumped. They begin their second song and will then introduce themselves. The music for “Dionysus” begins to play and the elaborate set pieces are added throughout the song. They are almost to the end of Dionysus when RM goes down hard. He falls off the table. People are gasping, Jin runs over and signals to the staff on the side of the stage that something is very wrong. ARMY and BTS are freaking out. The visual director quickly puts a message onto the big screens to please wait a moment. The medical staff immediately takes the lift up to the main backstage area. The obvious damage is a cut on his arm that took the brunt of the fall from the table, but that gash can’t account for the fact that he’s unconscious and breathing shallowly. There is a rush of oxygen masks and people yelling. Jimin and JK start crying, the other guys are freaked out about the show and what to do next. Jin rises to the occasion by asking if they should go ahead and skip to his and Suga’s solos until there is more information. A decision is quickly made to begin the solo portions. The two of them quickly change costumes and prepare to go out. An ambulance ends up needing to be called. The guys decide that Namjoon would want the show to go on and so they do. It’s ugly and weird and they are unfocused but they manage through it. ARMY is crying for RM because they know it’s bad when he doesn’t come back on stage. They skip the ments and encore and  the guys are immediately loaded into vans and transported to the private health facility that he’s been taken to. 

The staff escorts the six of them to a room where they wait for a doctor to come and speak to them. A translator is located and brought in as well.

“What happened? Did anybody see what happened before he fell?” Hoseok asks.

“He was fine. I didn’t notice anything strange.” Tae responds. 

“They took video and showed the doctor,”Yoongi adds, having overheard the staff on the way there.

After a few minutes a doctor comes in. “Hello Gentleman. Your friend is in good hands here, and is stable.” she reassures them. 

There is a collective sigh from the group as they hear this news.

“However, we aren’t sure what’s causing this condition. There is no evidence of an aneurysm on the CT scan and the video doesn't show any seizure-like activity prior to the fall. His heart is in excellent shape as well as his lungs. At this point we are running more tests but we do need to ask you all some questions here. Please answer honestly. Does your friend use any drugs? Even maybe extra prescription medication?”

It takes a few seconds for the translator to relay the message and the guys’ reactions range from anger to disbelief. Jin is up on his feet shouting about how they should be focusing on fixing Namjoon rather than gossiping, Jimin is crying more. It’s a mess.

“Calm down guys, it’s a standard question,” Yoongi says stoically. “She’s not trying to be rude.”

“No. He drinks beer and wine sometimes. But no. He’s not on any drugs.  That’s ridiculous.” Jungkook summarizes.

“I’m sorry, it’s something I do have to ask. Is there anything else you guys could think of that might be pertinent? An old injury? Something he did earlier today or ate that he doesn’t usually?”

The guys all sat there for a minute. It was Jin who made the connection first: “His soulmate. She lives in LA.”

Tae’s hand flew to his phone to make a phone call.. The next few things happened over the course of a few hours: a phone call to Hitman Bang to get Gina’s contact information. Several phone calls to Gina. Calls from Gina to you. No answer. Phone calls to Xavier. No answer. Xavier calling Gina back hysterically sobbing that you were in a coma with a skull fracture and blood loss, Gina crying, Gina having someone else call Hitman Bang because she couldn’t stop sobbing, Hitman Bang calling Tae back.

The doctor was updated on the situation. “Ah...well that would explain it. Were the two of them very close?” she asks delicately.

It’s highly inappropriate but Yoongi just laughs, “No. They met one time .”

The doctor raised her eyebrows, “Oh. Well that’s unusual.”

“If she dies, will he die too?” Jimin asks quietly with tears in his eyes.

“No. And especially not if they weren’t close. I need to consult with some colleagues on this before we proceed. If you all want to go get some rest I think he’s going to be like this for a while. We can call you if anything changes.” the doctor informs them.

They are uneasy about leaving Namjoon there so they split up into groups of two to take turns. Jin and JK take the first shift at the care facility.

 ----------------

The doctor reaches out to several colleagues who are familiar with more case studies of soul mate injuries and what to do when there is a mirrored trauma response. She gets permission from RM’s parents (who have flown to London as well at this point) to try a reverse cryogenic procedure to restart his systems. Basically, they will bring his body down to an almost hypothermic point and slowly reheat him, encouraging cell regeneration and movement. It has been successful in similar cases, but it is a slow procedure that needs to be carefully monitored. 

Meanwhile, social media is having a field day about what could have happened. BigHit put out that story that RM has developed a severe allergic reaction to shellfish and went into anaphylaxis on the stage; he was administered an epi-pen and hospitalized but is now resting and recovering. The rest of the guys give interviews to back up this story as well. 48 hours after the incident began, RM is slowly regaining consciousness. 

“What happened? I feel like someone is opening up my skull with a pair of pliers.” he asks the doctor.

“I’m sorry but your soulmate was in a very bad car accident. She’s in a coma and you suffered a mirrored trauma response. I’m going to go let your friends and family know you’re awake.” 

“Shit.” RM says, really taking in everything that was just said to him. 

Jin is the first one in the room. “Hey. You’re finally awake. We were so worried.”

“How long have I been out for?”

“2 days.”

“Shit. What happened with the concert? Is everything ok? Oh God. What did they tell people?”

“One thing at a time.” Yoongi said as he entered the room. “We finished the show. The tour is postponed for at least a few weeks. We told people you had an allergic reaction.”

RM visibly relaxed but was still upset about the show. “Those fans have to be so disappointed.”

“Yeah, but they want you to be well. There’s thousands of flowers and cards being left at Wembley and so many messages on Weverse. We’ll make the dates up when you’re better. ARMY understands. It’s not your fault.”

“No, it’s [Y/N]’s fault.” he says briskly. 

“I mean. She got flattened by a car. So, not really.” Tae added.”She’s in an actual coma. They can;'t just reheat her.” he was surprised by how cold RM sounded talking about his soulmate.

“You’re right. I’m just...it’s a lot. My head still hurts and I guess I just want someone to blame.”

“Blame the asshole who hit her,” Yoongi adds.

“Yeah. I will. I’m so tired.”

“Here, we’ll leave so you can talk to your parents for a minute before you rest.”

“My parents flew in?” he says surprised.

“We thought you were going to die,” Jimin says seriously. “Your sister is on her way here too.”

Rm laid his head back against his pillow. This is exactly the kind of soulmate bullshit he’s been trying to avoid. And you were in a coma. He stopped for a minute and thought about how scary it must be for you but he won’t allow himself to dwell on it. He’s getting his soul mark obliterated as soon as you wake up from your coma and sign off on it. If you wake up from it. Shit. 

----

24 hours later he is discharged from the hospital and decides to book a flight to LA to see what your doctors are doing about rectifying this situation. He can’t shake the massive headache and leg pain that he’s still experiencing constantly. He cannot perform like this. Also he’s looked into the legal status of soulmark obliteration if one party is a permanently vegetative state and what counts as legal consent. Because of course he has. The guys all talk and decide that Tae will go along with him for support. Really it’s to be the voice of reason because they can’t believe that rather than going to see how you’re doing, he is going to ask you to remove your mark. 

------------

RM knows what hospital you are at because his doctor consulted with yours in order to determine the best course of treatment. You doctor was hoping that once RM woke up, you would show signs of improvement. So far though, there wasn’t a lot on your end.

Ben and Xavier dutifully took shifts staying with you in the hospital. On this particular night, Ben is taking the night shift, walking back from the vending machines. He stops when he sees two dudes who look like models standing outside your door.

“Hey. Are you guys friends with [Y/N]? You must be from the studio. I don’t think we’ve met before. I'm Ben” Ben is tired but tries to be friendly.

Tae and Namjoon turn and look to him. Ben. Ben must be her boyfriend. 

“Actually we’re from one of the bands she worked with. I’m Namjoon and this is Taehyung. You must be her boyfriend?”

“Fiance actually,” Ben politely corrects. “Just a few weeks ago actually,” he awkwardly laughs. “But then this all happened. You know the asshole didn’t even stop?” 

Tae feels extremely awkward. He can understand a small bit of what’s going on, but he knows that what’s coming will be very difficult for everyone.

“That’s awful. How is she doing?”

“Bad. Stable. But, bad. She lost a lot of blood and hit her head pretty hard. They’re surprised she didn’t have any broken bones other than her skull fracture. She dislocated her shoulder when it hit the hood. The guy was definitely speeding.” Ben runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry if you were hoping to visit.”

RM awkwardly runs his hands up and down his jeans. There is not an easy way to say this.

“So. You know that [Y/N] has a soulmark on her wrist?”

Ben stiffens ever so slightly, “I do. But it’s ok. We don’t really care about that whole destiny thing. It’s unconventional but you know…” he trails off.

RM takes a deep breath and rolls up his sleeve. “I have the matching soulmark. I was in a coma for 2 days. I need to speak to her doctor immediately.” NEXT CHAPTER

[honey-dewey]

Random Dewey Finn headcanons (?) I came up with while eating my breakfast

Before Dewey wanted to be a big rock star, he wanted to be an astronaut. 

His aunt gave him his first guitar for his 10th birthday, thus sparking his love of rock music. 

One of the major reasons he never quit music was because of that aunt. She passed away early, and was constantly the only member of his family that truly believed in him. 

Dewey’s mum was kind of absent, so he was raised primarily by his dad. 

Dewey and Ned met on the first day of high school, and were inseparable for all four years. 

Despite both of them liking both, Dewey likes Star Wars more, while New prefers Star Trek. They have debates of epic proportion over which of these preferences is better. Dewey somehow always wins. 

One of the reasons Ned let Dewey live with him is because Dewey is an amazing cook. He never eats what he makes though. 

His specialty is breakfast foods

While he may be an amazing home cook, he’s an even better baker. 

Dewey is highly sensitive to textures, especially food and fabrics. 

Because of this, he rarely tries new foods, sticking to a decently firm schedule. (He really likes hard boiled eggs) 

It’s also why he likes sweater vests. The actual sweater doesn’t touch his skin, but he can rub his hands up and down the knit when he gets overwhelmed. 

He’s also sensitive to criticism. Along with that, he cries easily. 

After the whole School of Rock incident, Dewey did some quick online classes on teaching. When a music teacher position at Horace Green opened up, he was the first one contacted to fill it. 

During SoR shows, Dewey has a tendency to get very hyped, and this eventually leads to a collapse, usually on the bus ride home. It happened once on stage, where he just went still and quiet all of a sudden and then began to panic. 

All of his kids know exactly what to do during his collapses. 

They made him (yes made him) a stress doll. It weighs about twenty pounds and looks like a panda. They lay it across Dewey’s chest and let him lie down on a blanket. The kids then surround him to make a protective barrier. It’s a very effective method. 

It took almost thirty years for Dewey to get diagnosed with mild autism, anxiety, ADD, and seasonal depression. His mother was a firm believer that mental illness was a hoax. 

He did try and take medication for it, right when he started teaching full-time. It made him nauseous and tired and so unlike himself that he quit after three months, a decision that was fully backed by his students. 

He eventually did go back and get a new prescription for his ADD. It works surprisingly well and doesn’t make him act any less like himself. 

This isn’t even a Headcanon. It’s straight up actual canon from the Broadway.com Stick it to the Man video! Dewey stims! He knocks his wrists together and does the raptor hands! (I don’t think his hands were truly by his side at any point during the entire show) He taps his feet and shakes his hands! His facial expressions are always on 10 and he scronches his face when he’s excited! His head go bop! He’s a stimming Boi!

Also have you ever seen a neurotypical person dress like that? Ever? Nope. Sweater vests and jeans and sneakers (that look like heelys) is not a neurotypical outfit. 

Dewey doesn’t like rainy weather, nor does he like the cold bite of winter. He has a heater and a happy light in his classroom for rainy and/or cold days. 

His favorite season is fall. He really really likes to step on leaves and hear that satisfying crunch. 

Dewey also has a weakened immune system, and is pretty vigilant about his health. He takes vitamins and vitamin D supplements, and yet always ends up with some kind of illness in winter. Despite this, he refuses to get any kind of flu shot. 

Dewey’s list of phobias includes: needles, heights, clowns, and the dark. 

He’s dead terrified of the dentist. Ned has to practically drag him every time. It’s not even that he has poor dental hygiene or has actual odontophobia, he just hates the experience. The combination of strong smells and uncomfortable touches and horrible noises overwhelms him so much. 

For much of the same reasons as his hatred of the dentist, Dewey dreads getting his hair cut. Social interaction mixed with weird feelings on his surprisingly sensitive head and the constant background noise and the hair spray-y smell make it an experience Dewey’s hated since childhood. Now, Ned usually cuts Dewey’s hair because he’s really not picky about how it looks, and Ned knows exactly how to go about the job without causing Dewey to hyperventilate and cry. 

He uses a night light! It’s the fun kind that projects stars on the ceiling. 

Dewey is the king of field trips. He’s always just as eager as the kids to go, and he loves to learn niche facts. His favorite field trip location is the aquarium. 

Dewey quit drinking after his 23rd birthday, when he blacked out and woke up in some random girl’s bed. She promised they didn’t do it, but ever since then, he’s terrified it’ll happen again. 

Speaking of which, Dewey’s a virgin. 

Once, one of Dewey’s female students came to him and said an older man was following her to and from school every day. Dewey was later suspended from work for a week for punching a man and putting him in the hospital. Once they knew why, the school board unanimously decided not to punish him. 

Dewey absolutely insists all of his kids call him Dewey and not Mr. Finn. 

He’s the most supportive teacher in the entire school. He’s got name tags on every desk with each kid’s preferred name and pronouns. When Billy comes out as non-binary, he makes the pronoun switch immediately and puts a beautiful stained glass-esque progress pride flag in one of his windows. 

Someone hatefully vandalized said pride art project and Dewey actually cried. His kids all banded together to make a new one. 

Sometimes, the kids purposefully ask Dewey to sing certain things because his voice gets so damn tender and beautiful, as opposed to the usual bombastic singing they’re used to. (Think like. Some of the 35MM songs) 

Dewey has a routine with his drinks throughout the day. Two cups of coffee in the morning, one at home and one at work. One water bottle before lunch and one after lunch. A Gatorade or some other fitness drink after school, usually during band practice to make up for how sweaty he gets. And one cup of lavender citrus tea with extra honey after dinner. 

He broke his only water bottle about four months into teaching full-time and started to use a plastic one every day. Ned decided that wouldn’t do, and got him a Mandalorian water bottle. Dewey loves it to bits. 

Dewey doesn’t celebrate any one version of a holiday. He’s equal opportunity for any and all holidays, but he grew up Jewish. That doesn’t stop him from helping Ned put up his Christmas tree every year. Nor does it stop him from celebrating Yule with his online friends. 

Despite being Jewish and mainly celebrating their holidays, Dewey loves Christmas music and starts playing it as soon as he can. The kids dare him to hit those ridiculous Mariah Carey high notes in All I Want For Christmas. He does it. 

He also once sang ‘Little Drummer Boy’ to his kids the day before holiday break. He only played his guitar softly and by the time he was done, each and every kid was fast asleep. (He played Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer as well) 

Dewey absolutely collects soft blankets. He has four halloween ones, two Tim Burton ones (a Beetlejuice and a Corpse Bride), eight winter holiday blankets, and three miscellaneous. He brought them all into class once and built a blanket fort to teach his kids about ancient civilization. 

Speaking of which, his teaching methods are unorthodox at best, and at worst downright crazy. But he always teaches and he always makes it memorable. His class has the highest test scores in the school. 

Dewey usually teaches using music or hands on activities. He plays soft background music during every class no matter the circumstances, and said screw the building’s lights and uses primarily lamps and strings of Christmas lights. 

He also kind of forgets that he teaches essentially middle school, and he swears every so often when he’s super passionate. Like when he taught the kids about the US Presidents and called Andrew Jackson a racist bitch and Richard Nixon a lying bastard. 

After getting bullied throughout all of high school, Dewey came to terms with what his body looked like, and now he really doesn’t care. (He did have a lot of fun smashing the scale his mother got him for his birthday once) 

Dewey was supposed to teach his kids about mental illness for a suicide prevention thing the school did, but got about halfway through before he had a breakdown and the kids declared the rest of the day a bust. They watched cute animated movies instead of learning for the rest of the school day. 

Speaking of animated movies, Dewey really loves Studio Ghibli. 

The first time one of his kids called him ‘Dad’ he cried. Then they kept doing it and now he’s had to accept that he’s basically a father to about 30 11-year-olds. 

If you ask any kid in the school who their favorite teacher is, they will not hesitate to answer ‘Mr. Finn.’ Even if they aren’t in his class, he’s their favorite. 

Dewey’s classroom is always open for lunch. It’s quiet and calm, usually with a movie going in the background. 

He also stays after school for about an hour every day, helping kids with homework. He hates math with a passion but that didn’t stop him from trying to figure out Katie’s math homework with her. 

Even at home, Dewey cannot stand the quiet. He either has his headphones on or the radio going. Silence just isn’t an option. 

Dewey once got pneumonia and tried to come in to work anyway. The kids made him go home. He didn’t really put up much of a fight. 

The first instrument Dewey ever learned to play was the piano. He started to learn when he was super young, and that was how he learned how to read music. His kids didn’t even know he knew how to play until they walked in on him practicing one day. 

Dewey says ‘fuck gender roles’ and wears the girl’s skirts to a few SoR concerts. He likes the way it makes his legs look. 

Some jerk parents constantly tried to get Dewey in trouble for months because they didn’t like him and thought he wasn’t ‘high class’ enough for their kid’s education. Dewey was so stunned when they showed up during one of his classes that he couldn’t speak and just started to cry. Said student stood up and called their parents out. Two days later, those parents were off the school board. 

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Dewey found out a new kid he’d received was being abused at home because they weren’t getting high enough grades and he yelled at the kid’s parents in front of all the other staff members. 

Essentially, Dewey can’t defend himself at all, but will not hesitate to protect his kids. 

Dewey has said multiple times he would die for his kids. He’s always 100% serious, especially during lockdown drills. 

Once, the school had a lockdown that wasn’t a drill, and Dewey managed to keep his entire class silent and calm while mentally preparing himself to lay his life down for his kids. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. 

Dewey’s also said he’d seriously consider adopting any of the kids if their at-home situation was that bad. 

When he finally could, Dewey moved out of Ned’s house and into his own cramped loft apartment. He’s in love with the apartment, even though it’s tiny and kinda smells. 

Dewey has almost no concept of volume control. He’s slightly deaf from constantly doing very loud shows and sometimes shouts because he thinks that’s a normal speaking volume. 

As one of, if not the actual, youngest teachers at the school, Dewey is universally adored by the rest of the staff. It took a while for all of them to get on board with him, but now they all really like him. 

Dewey’s favorite fruit is pomegranate. There’s just something super cathartic about cutting into a pomegranate and slowly de-seeding it. Plus, it tastes super good. But he only likes them if he can de-seed them himself. 

One of the ways Dewey grounds himself is by pressing things to his mouth. He usually just puts his hand up on his face or the end of a pen in his mouth, but whenever he has a blanket, one corner is up against his lips. The same goes for stuffed animals. They’re always against his face. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. 

[heavencollins]

Top 10 Films of 2020: Part Two

And the last five of my top ten are...

5: Unpregnant, directed by Rachel Goldenberg and written by Rachel Goldenberg, Jennifer Kaytin Robinson, Jenni Hendriks, Ted Caplan, and Bill Parker.

This HBO Max Original was the tipping point for me actually purchasing HBO Max, and I haven’t regretted it since.  Starring two absolute queens, Barbie Ferriera and Haley Lu Richardson, Unpregnant tells the story of a teenage girl who finds herself in a situation she wants nothing to do with: pregnancy.  Her boyfriend informs her that the condom broke a few weeks ago but he didn’t tell her, which is fucked up in it’s own right, but that they should keep the baby and raise it and get married.  Veronica, played by Richardson, quickly says no and runs to her old friend’s house; Bailey, played by Ferriera.  Veronica learned that you cannot access abortions in her state without parental consent, so she makes a plan to roadtrip to New Mexico from Missouri to get an abortion that should be a human right.

Veronica and Bailey have been estranged for years, as Veronica became popular and Bailey fell into the realm of introvert, pothead, and nerd.  But Bailey misses their friendship, and says yes to going on this road trip because she knows they’ll have time to grow close again.  Throughout the road trip, the girls reminisce and become closer than they have before; Bailey revealing her sexuality, Veronica facing the reality of her shitty relationship and not-great friends, and the fact that chosen family is often better than real family.  

The film is aggressively pro-choice and feminist, but also is a feel-great movie, not just good, but great.  it made me both laugh and cry, as well as cheer on both characters.  There’s a lot of really, really, really wholesome narrative within this and it’s a film targeted at teens for teens.  It shows what a healthy relationship is and that no matter how different your best friend is from you, you’ll still have the same connection as always.  I love this one.  

4: Saint Frances, directed by Alex Thompson and written by Kelly O’Sullivan.

One of my favorite facts about this film is that the lead star wrote it, and she works as a team with the director, Alex Thompson, and is partners with him in life as well.  Saint Frances focuses on a 30-something woman named Bridget who finds herself with no set path in life.  She’s childless, sleeping around, has no real career other than waitressing, and doesn’t know what she wants to do with herself.  Her friend recommends her as a nanny to a lesbian couple around her age who are having their second kid and need help with their six year old daughter, Frances.  

Shortly before starting her job as Frances’ nanny, Bridget undergoes an abortion via pill, which means you bleed in the safety of your home and get to do it outside of the medical appointment.  This plays heavily into the plot, as her periods end up being heavier than ever throughout the rest of the film and it becomes a slight joke between all of the characters.  It also shows how little Bridget really cares for her own health, as she doesn’t think to go to the doctors at all and that it’s totally normal.  

Frances helps Bridget grow up, as well as bringing her two mom’s together after the birth mother of the newborn suffers from extreme post-partum depression.  Bridget and Frances end up becoming best friends, and it’s a truly touching film that feels like a home, if that makes sense.  I could watch this again and again and never get sick of it.  O’Sullivan and Thompson are a fantastic writer-director team.

3: Shirley, directed by Josephine Decker and written by Sarah Gubbins and Susan Scarf Merrell.

A movie about one of the greatest horror novelists and short story writers of all time set in Vermont starring Elisabeth Moss?  Alright, I’m in.  Shirley held very tightly in the number one spot until just this month, because it was that good.  Moss plays Shirley Jackson, the horror writer we all know and love, and there’s something haunting about her.

While the story is highly fictionalized, with two characters being completely made up (the young couple played by Odessa Young and Logan Lerman), the film takes place right after Jackson published The Lottery and as she’s writing her next novel.  Her husband, Stanley Hyman (played by Michael Stuhlbarg), is a professor at Bennington College and Jackson finds herself shying away from the stereotypical role of a faculty wife.  She’s aloof, callous, straight up rude to the other wives and prefers to spend her time alone in her room, writing.  Hyman prefers to cheat on her with younger woman and yell at Jackson for not being more social.  This is most likely true to real life.

The young couple work as a mirror for Jackson, people she can project her novel onto and try to see how it will play out.  It’s reflective of her writing style.  This story is told with lavish cinematography and a score that reminds you of wind whipping between the trees, one of the best scores I’ve ever heard, actually, and it’s just lovely.  Despite being mainly fictionalized with some truth sprinkled in, it’s by far Decker’s most palatable work for a wide audience (though I loved Madeline’s Madeline).  I highly recommend this one to anyone.

2. Never Rarely Sometimes Always, directed and written by Eliza Hittman.

I’ve loved every single film that Hittman has put out, but this one is especially poignant in the current political climate.  Abortions should be widely available, but sadly they aren’t and often teenagers have to travel to other state’s to have to have their procedure done without putting themselves in danger by telling their parents.  

In Never Rarely Sometimes Always, two cousins go on a trip to New York City to procure an abortion procedure, not informing their parents beforehand.  Except nothing goes to plan; they end up having to sleep in strange places, use all of their savings, and even steal portions of money from the grocery store they both work at.  This film is quiet, sad, and real.  

Perhaps the best scene in this is when the title comes into play.  Anybody who has been to a physical appointment knows the questions they ask, but it’s especially nerve wracking when your body is at risk for something.  The nurse asks questions, stating never, rarely, sometimes, or always after each.  Skylar, played by Talia Ryder, starts to hesitate as the questions get more and more personal.  And then she finally breaks down.  It’s overwhelming and scary and she’s finally vulnerable for the first time in this entire movie.  

While Unpregnant and Saint Frances provide more witty and funny tales about abortion and unwanted pregnancies, Never Rarely Sometimes Always gives a dark and gritty tale of what having no help in those situations can look like, ultimately putting yourself in the most dangerous situations possible to make the right choice for yourself.  

1: Swallow, directed and written by Carlo Mirabella-Davis.

I don’t want to say much of this film because it’s something you truly have to experience.  Hunter, a woman who finds herself pregnant with her rich husband’s child, finds herself having what can only be called abnormal food cravings.  Except, what she eats isn’t necessarily food—she suffers from an extreme form of pica, causing her to eat everything from marbles to staples to little figurines.  She proudly displays her collection on her desk, cleaning them off meticulously once she passes them.  It’s a horror film but the horror isn’t necessarily in what she eats, it’s how she’s treated.

In fact, her eating habits are the one thing she has control over in her life until even that’s taken away from her.  Her husband’s family doesn’t care about her—only the fetus she’s carrying.  It’s a really good representation of an abusive husband that you don’t often see, because none of the abuse is physical, rather, emotional.  

I can’t say anymore because then I’d be spoiling—all I have to say is go watch it.  Please.  It’s so amazing. 

[danny-williams]

in sickness and in health

set immediately after s8.6, because i think Danny being worried about Steve’s health is literally the most married thing ever

1. change his diet

It doesn’t happen overnight. It doesn’t happen overnight because Danny knows that it can’t happen overnight - otherwise Steve will notice and all of his efforts into our sneaking the SuperSEAL will go to waste because he and Steve will fight, and Chloe made it very clear that he and Steve fighting was not good for Steve’s health.

Even if it significantly improved Danny’s mood everytime he got Steve riled up. His serotonin levels could take a hit for a bit (he’d just finagle more time with Charlie from Rachel).

It takes a lot of back and forth, and a promise to let Kamekona buy into their restaurant (currently un-named because he refused to have an italian joint named Steve’s) but Kamekona finally agrees to reduce the amount of butter he puts on his shrimp.

“But only for Steve’s plate bruddah,” he says, a frown on his face, “I’m not changing my recipe for anybody else. This is prime shrimp you’re messing with here - I hope you know that. This shrimp won me awards.”

Danny grimaces, “Technically, Chef Morimoto sabotaging your competition won you that award, but we’ll go with your version of things. As long as you keep this from Steve. I do not need him knowing that I’m messing with his food.”

“You got it bruddah.”

Everything else after that is slightly easier. Even with Junior home, Steve still comes over to Danny’s a lot - so Danny starts shopping smarter; buying low fat food and including more greens in his diet.

The jersey in him is crying, weeping for some good grease - the kind that slithers off the meat and onto your fingers, but he reminds himself it’s for a good cause. Besides, it’s not like he isn’t still eating good food - he’s just eating it less.

That’s not a terrible thing.

2. to do list 

He’s in his office, finishing up the last reports of the drug bust they made earlier that day - when there’s a sharp rap on his door. Danny looks up to see Steve standing on the other side, clutching a piece of paper in his hand.

He waves him in, and Steve slams the paper against his desk. “What are you, some sort of caveman? Did they not teach you how to politely put things down in the Army -”

“ - Navy - “

“Why do you gotta,” he gestures at the paper, “now my ink is all smudged.”

Steve ignores him, which is par for the course at this time, “What is this?”

Danny looks at the paper, and then back at Steve, “What do you mean, what is this? How should I know? You’re the one that brought it in.”

Steve points at the paper aggressively, “Look at it, and explain to me what it is.”

He smoothens out the paper, “It’s looks like a to-do list. Are you getting old babe? Do we need to take you to an eye specialist, maybe get you fitted for some glasses? Reading goggles?”

“Danny I don’t need -” Steve cuts himself off, and honestly, Danny is really enjoying how worked up Steve is about this whole thing, “I mean, what is it doing on my desk?”

Danny bites his lips, spreading his hands out wide, “I don’t know maybe you uhh, maybe you decided that you needed to make a list, make sure you know everything you had to do for today. Did you hit your head or something during our drug bust today? Maybe get a concussion - lose a couple of braincells?”

“I didn’t write this Danno,” Steve says in a frustrated tone, “Lou sure as hell didn’t write it, Tani’s too new to even think of pulling something like this - and we both know Jerry doesn’t have the balls for this kind of thing. That just leaves you. So I’m gonna ask you again, what is this doing on my desk?”

“Okay look, we’ve both been really busy with the restaurant right?”

“Steve’s.”

“No, not Steve’s because I’m still undecided on the name - but the point is, we’ve both been busy. So I thought you might you know, benefit from having a list of things that we had to do for it. So that you could plan your day better.”

Steve opens his mouth and shuts it again, furrowing his brows at Danny. 

“And that’s all this is? Making sure I keep up to date with the restaurant?”

“That’s all it is babe.”

“You’re up to something,” Steve grabs the paper, pointing a finger at Danny accusingly, “I don’t know what you’re up to - but you’re up to something.”

“Just making sure our restaurant doesn’t fail!” Danny calls after him, but waits until he’s out of sight to pull open his drawer and pull out the pile of unfinished to-do lists.

He’s going to have to be sneakier about them this time.

3. less bickering

Danny ponders over this one for a while, mainly because Steve expressly told him not to change. It would defeat the whole purpose of sneakily managing Steve’s stress if he notices, so Danny’s careful about it.

Mostly because after her day with Steve, Chloe pulled Danny aside and gave him enough of a scare to last him ten lifetimes.

“Look,” she’d said, “I don’t mean to tell you how to manage your relationship with your partner. From what I hear, you guys have been together for close to seven years, and I’m sure you worked out some sort of rhythm. But from what I can see Detective, you fight him on everything.”

“What do you mean I fight him on everything, I,I, I let him drive my car, I let him eat at my house, he even sleeps at my house on occasion - and what do I get for it? I get shot at and almost killed three times before lunch.”

“You guys don’t have an easy job, I agree. But I don’t imagine that for the Commander, someone who’s come from the Navy and is used to absolute obedience, that it’s easy when you question even his smallest actions.”

She had a point, which is Danny is now trying to figure out how to organically stop fighting with a man he literally punched just hours after they met.

“Okay here’s what’s going to happen,” Steve says, just as they pull up at the suspect’s house. They’re chasing the kidnapper of a twelve year old girl, so everybody’s a bit ramped up, especially Danny. He hates cases with kids. It makes it easier to take a backseat and give up control to Steve on this one.

“I’m going go through the front door,” he gestures with his hands, “Lou, Danny - I want you to get the back. Tani? I want you out here, in case our perp tries to make a run for it?”

Danny has to physically swallow back the words on the tip of his tongue, because asking Steve if they should wait for back-up would be questioning his actions - and Chloe said that was bad for his health.

Steve gives him a look, like he knows that’s something’s wrong - but before he can say anything there’s shot fired inside the house and everything goes to shit. 

Danny and Lou turn the corner as quick as possible, just in time to see someone run outside the back entrance and jump across the fence.

“Lou, get back to the truck, see if you can cut him off like that,” Steve jumps after him, panting into his ear-piece, “Danny?”

“Right behind you buddy,” he says, even as he aims and shoots at the two guys who wander out behind their perp, clearly looking for him, “our friend over here had company over.”

Thankfully, there doesn’t appear to be anyone else coming out of the house, and when Danny makes his way in - 12 year old Danielle Rodriguez is tied to the radiator, shivering despite the constant sweltering heat that is the fine island of Hawaii.

“Hey hey,” he swings his gun behind his back and lifts his hands up, “my name is Detective Danny Williams okay? I’m with Five-0. I’m one of the good guys. Now how about I get you out of this and back to your parents?”

Later, when they’re back at HQ and Danielle has been reunited with her teary-eyed parents - Lou mutters to Danny, “so how come you didn’t ask Steve to wait for back-up?”

“I’m trying something new.”

4. well bred social behaviour

“Danny!” The door swings open, even though Danny is fairly certain that he locked in, but he doesn’t reach for his gun, because there’s only one person on this entire island who walks into his house like they own it.

“In here!” he calls out, and sure enough, Steve walks in a couple seconds later with coffee and a brown bag.

“Are those malasadas?” he asks, reaching out for the coffee in one hand, looking up briefly from floor plans to ensure that there’s contact between his palm and the coffee cup, “Did you bring me malasadas?”

“No I bought myself malasadas, but since I’m generous I’ll give you one or two.”

“What’s this?” he asks over a mouthful of malasada, peering over his shoulder and Danny bats at him because he’s dripping sugar all over the plans, “Is this Steve’s?”

“For the last time, we’re not calling the restaurant Steve’s I don’t know how many times I have to go through this with you. But yes, to answer your question, these are the tentative plans that our interior decorator drew up for the restaurant.”

“Interior decorator?” his voice comes out all muffled, and Danny sends him a withering look, “You’re disgusting you know that? Can you finish chewing before you talk? Please? Is that too much to ask for?”

Steve swallows obnoxiously, and grins at Danny. He’s got cream on the edge of his mouth, and it should disgust Danny - instead he’s thinking about leaning up and licking it off.

“Thank you, for the coffee by the way,” he says instead, “I appreciate it. That was a nice thing to do.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve replies, and Danny can hear the surprise in his tone, but he resolutely ignores it - instead pulling Steve into a conversation about the booths.

5. sex

There’s probably a code of conduct somewhere, Danny muses, that involves something about not having your ex-girlfriend spy on your partner. Well, spying might be a bit extreme.

He and Melissa split months ago, because it was clear after two disasterdly Valentine’s Days, that it just wasn’t working between them. Her exact words were, and he quotes, “You’re never going to love me the way I love you. Not when Steve occupies all the real estate in your heart.”

She wasn’t wrong, was the thing, and after they’d gotten past the initial awkwardness that the fact that Danny was in love with someone that wasn’t her - they actually fell into a good friendship. 

It helped that Melissa didn’t know a lot of people in Oahu except Danny, and that their relationship had been a lot like a friendship in the first place. Except with more sex.

Like a lot more sex.

Honestly, given that Steve was the reason they broke up, Melissa was surprisingly gamely when Danny asked her to stay in touch with Lynn, and let him know how things were going with her and Steve.

(He thinks it’s pity, but he doesn’t actually ask because then she might actually answer)

“They broke up,” Melissa says with little fanfare, over their weekly coffee, “Lynn won’t tell me much. But they split about a week ago. Guess she got tired of waiting around for him too.”

It might also be the fact that Melissa is convinced that Steve is just as much in love with Danny as Danny is with him, nevermind the fact that Steve has never showed interest.

“What do you mean they broke up?”

“I mean they’re over. Ended things. Done.”

“Huh,” Danny says, over his coffee, trying to figure out the best way to convince Steve to let Danny take him out for a guy’s night to get over Lynn without revealing how he knows that Steve needs a guy’s night to get over Lynn.

In the end, he doesn’t even have to be all that sneaky about it, because Steve comes to him - asks him out for drinks; so all Danny really has to do is play the dutiful wingman.

“I’m sorry about you and Lynn,” he yells over the music, after the alcohol has sufficiently loosened his tongue, “you guys were good together.”

“It was never going to work out,” Steve yells back, and gives Danny a significant look, “bit like you and Melissa.”

“How do you - how do you know about that?”

“What you think that you and Melissa are the only ones who engage in pillow talk? Lynn talks too, on occasion. When we weren’t you know, busy with other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” Danny chuckles, “Is that what we’re calling it now? You can say sex Steve. This must, must put a damper on your whole two or three days a week thing. Oh wait no sorry, how many days did you say it was? Five?”

“I’ll have you know,” Steve says, staggering on his feet as he and Danny stumble outside the bar, “that me and Lynn had a lot of problems. But sex wasn’t one of them.”

“Well -” he furrows his brows, and stops suddenly, pulling Danny close to him, “Sex might’ve been one of them.”

“What happened? You need tips in bed? Smooth dog?”

“I am very good in bed!” Steve says, affronted, “It was not my skill that was the issue here.”

“Then what was it? No come on don’t clamp up on me now, I have to hear this. What was the issue?”

Steve turns bright red, “I might’ve - I might’ve said the wrong name in bed, a couple of times.”

“Babe, you are unbeatable. No really, you are. First you, you leave the engagement ring that you were going to give Catherine just lying around - then you take off with Catherine in the middle of a romantic dinner, and now you’re yelling her name in bed? Buddy I’m surprised she didn’t break up with you sooner.”

Steve’s giving him this look, like he can’t for the life of him understand what Danny’s saying. “No it wasn’t Catherine why would you think it’s Catherine. No it was - “

And that’s about as far as Steve gets, because a second later, he’s retching their dinner all over the side of the road.

//

+ 1: love him

They’re all out on his lanai: Danny, Tani, Junior, Kamekona, even Duke’s made it out - and Steve’s got the grill set up just a couple feet away from the chairs. Half his attention is on the grill, the other half is on Danny - the way he’s stretched out on the old chair; loosened from the beer he’s been nursing, and smiling at something Tani said.

“Keep an eye on that meat,” Lou says, startling Steve, “I don’t want my dinner burning.”

“I’m not gonna burn your dinner Lou jeez, have a little faith. When have I ever burnt your dinner before?”

Lou looks over at Danny, and back at Steve with raised eyebrows, “you’re a bit distracted today. Forgive me if I’m cautious.”

“He thinks I don’t know what he’s doing,” Steve says in lieu of a response, “but I found his list the other day. All the things that stress management specialist said, Chloe or whatever her name is - he’s got it all written down. He’s driving himself crazy, worrying about this thing.”

“Have you ever stopped to consider why he’s so worried?”

Steve turns to Lou with a frown, “it’s not that hard to put together Lou. He’s worried about my health. I get it, I am too - but I’m not running myself into the ground thinking about it day and night.”

“Look man, I’ve been with you guys for a couple of years now, and let me tell you something about Danny. Now I’m not pointing fingers or any of that, but I’ve seen that man care about a lot of things - but nothing the way he cares about you Steve.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but Lou just holds up his hand, “you didn’t see him Steve. The day you got shot? The day you almost died? You didn’t see him that day.”

“Danny was - he had broken ribs, and scratches all over his face. They told him to land the plane in the water did he tell you that?”

Steve shakes his head silently.

“The people in Air Control or whatever you want to call them, they told Danny that his best chance at survival was landing the plane in the water, swimming to shore. But he knew that landing the plane in the water meant that you might die, and it wasn’t a chance he was willing to take. He didn’t even stick around long enough to watch you get taken in for surgery, he was already on his way out looking for the sons of bitches that shot you up.”

“And I’ve never seen anything like it Steve, I’m telling you - I didn’t know he was capable of that kind of violence. There was this one guy, their ring leader, who managed to limp his way over to the helicopter. When me and Kono got there, Danny was standing over him with his gun out, and he had this look on his face - I was worried if I stepped in, he might shoot him just to get to this guy.”

“And after all that was done, he marched right back into that hospital, barrelled right past all of us, and offered up his liver. There wasn’t even a second’s hesitation. Apparently he’d already had the blood-work drawn up, in case anything like this happened.”

Lou claps him on his shoulder, “I love you man, I do. But I don’t love you the way Danny does. I don’t think anybody does.”

“Would you -” he gestures at the steaks, “would you watch over the grill for me? Just for a bit. There’s something I gotta do.”

He doesn’t wait to hear Lou’s reply, just stalks over to Danny and grabs him by his elbow - hauling him up.

“Hey where are we - why’re we going inside, you Neanderthal I was in the middle of a conversation what’re you tugging me around for like I’m some sort of -”

The rest of Danny’s sentence gets lost against Steve’s lips, as Steve turns him around and braces him against the nearest vertical surface. His mouth is already open, which Steve uses to his advantage; pressing his full weight against Danny and licking into his mouth; memorising it with his tongue.

They break up with a wet sound, and when Steve opens his eyes, Danny’s pupils are blown black.

“What was that for?” Danny whispers between their lips, and Steve half smiles at him, “that was me saying thank you. I know what you’ve been doing, trying to manage my stress for me. This is me saying thank you.”

“Huh,” Danny slides a hand around his neck, squeezing, “Why don’t you run that thank you by me again one more time?”

Fin

[concrete-weed]

It’s hard to be a god (Malcolm Reed x reader)

summary: Reader pretends to be a goddess. Malcolm needs a hug.  trektober day 7- interspecies relationship                                                                    words:  1,877

read on AO3 here

-

When you first heard of the new "humans" your ship encountered, you mostly thought were quite brash, going into space with a barely finished ship and all, but during the weeks you lived among them, your opinion changed for the better. Humans are very different from your own species. Much louder for sure, but you eventually grew to like them.

The human ship was wrecked, their puppy dog approach to first contact wasn’t working so well. Starfleet had allowed four aliens to serve on Enterprise until the end of her mission, helping both diplomacy and the state of the human ship. Working on Enterprise has been a treat. You have been a doctor for three years. Working with doctor Phlox has offered many learning opportunities, so your career wasn’t suffering. Your social life, on the other hand, certainly was. You talked to the people you knew from your ship, but for the most part, they were in engineering while you were slaving away in med bay.

You had a friend in a few people, Hoshi, for example. You spent many lunch breaks helping her understand your language, not an easy task by any measure, and learning a human language called English. Through her, you have met most of the bridge crew. It was peculiar to watch them all interact.

One human, in particular, caught your eye, Malcolm Reed. He was a bit quiet for a human, which fascinated you. His dark hair and light eyes seemed majestic to you.  You knew that staring was considered rude by human standards, but the first time you met him it took Hoshi nudging you in the ribs to get you to tear your eyes off the mysterious human.

During your second month aboard Enterprise, captain Archer got a call from Admiral Forrest, saying that a planet 5 lightyears away is requesting immediate help with a medical crisis. All medical personnel were working day and night to find a cure, you being no exemption. For a week you were absolutely exhausted, so when captain Archer went down to your quarters to tell you were going to are on the away mission, you didn’t even register it until the debriefing.

“Okay, so this is a bit bizarre, ” God you were all so tired,” but the government insists that the locals will only accept our help if doctor L/N pretends to be their goddess of health.”

What?

“Half of the population already believes this is a gift from the gods anyway. I doubt you would need to make any change to your behavior.” Archer continued monotonously. With a civilization as evolved as theirs, he expected no interference from religion, no such luck.

“Excuse me, sir,” you said uneasily, “are you sure this is a good idea?”

“As much as I think that this is a ridiculous request to make of you doctor, I hope you will at least consider putting on this act. Malcolm and his men will be there if anything goes”.

Now you were here, standing in a long drapey light green dress. All of the away team was dressed in traditional clothing, leaving them a bit uncomfortable. The only people left in a Starfleet uniform were two security officers with phasers by their sides. Captain Archer insisted that the lieutenant needed to wear the strange clothes and respect the culture as the highest-ranking officer there. Malcolm’s clothes were similar to yours, the same shade of mint, the same writing along the edges of the garment. You unfortunately didn’t have time to think about what that meant. While doctor Phlox was teaching local doctors how to treat the deadly disease you were paraded around all the temples that were built in ‘your’ honor.

In them you saw many paintings that depicted the goddess and were eerily similar to you, almost all of them depicting the sick crying out to their goddess, hoping to be cured. The goddess was a little bit taller than you, her eyes a little more penetrating, even through the pictures, but essentially you were lead through the main room in that temple, looking at heart-wrenching scenes of yourself, saving the damned.  In some, the goddess was surrounded by other deities, her most common companion a shorter man, usually carrying a small child.

Finally, you got a break. Apparently, as the tour exclaimed, divine being needed to be given food before sunset, or the mortals around them would be punished. It seemed terrible to live like this, afraid of godly wrath every second of life but since you could do nothing you just went along with her.  She insisted that you should take your meals separately from your security detail, as the rest of the away party were all male. Malcolm pulled you aside from the woman.

“Are you sure this is safe? You will be alone in the dining hall.” Said Malcolm, pragmatic as always.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. If anything is suspicious, I’ll just com you okay?” You answered hoping your voice sounded optimistic. You touched Malcolm’s upper arm in an attempt to comfort him. your gaze met his. You saw love in his brilliant blue-grey eyes. Or did you? Damn your wishful thinking. You quickly turned, walking back to the tour guide, you face a mask of calm, hiding your emotional turmoil.

The meal prepared for you was delicious but you couldn’t focus much on the conversation. Thankfully, your tour guide talked enough for the both of you.

“It is so wonderful you decided to come down to us! We have been awaiting your help for months.” you swore her nasal voice was going to drive you crazy, “My Lady, are you feeling okay?” you started stuttering out your answer but the guide cut you off. “Oh, you don’t have to explain yourself. We all have marital problems!” she added playfully. Marital problems?  

“Excuse me?” You hoped that your confusion won’t ruin the mission.

“My Lady, Archana? Oh, what does he go by now? Maco? Malcolm? Are you not married yet in this reincarnation?”

You remembered that during the tour the guide has mentioned that reincarnation was a major part of their mythology, still, the fact that she thought that you and Malcolm were married made your cheeks heat up. If you remembered correctly, the male deity, in this case, the god of protection, gave his life to protect his loved ones. The god will reappear in the next year, and the cycle will begin again.

“No. I’m afraid not,” you answered, trying not to choke on your drink.

“Well, I hope you find each other soon” she continued eating with a smile on her face.                                                                          

The meal continued in comfortable silence, your mind racing. Marrying Malcolm sounded like a dream, even if marriage was slightly different on your planet. Hoshi encouraged you to speak to Malcolm about your feelings, but the prospect of rejection terrified you. You preferred to live in this pathetic yearning state, maybe it was time to stop dreaming and take action.

-

Being back on the ship felt amazing but you were certainly nervous. For some reason ever since you got back Malcolm hasn’t even looked at you. His avoidance was becoming unbearable, the very second you entered a room he all but ran out. Your emotional side screamed each time but you wished to respect his wishes so you did nothing. Over time you felt worse and worse. You started working longer and longer shifts. Hoshi and Travis were starting to be worried. Dealing with heartache is unpleasant in the best conditions but dealing with it and being homesick, stuck on board an alien ship must be a thousand times worse.

Hoshi has convinced you to come to movie night. Before you could actually enjoy whatever old human movie, Trip put on you had to figure out what you had done to Malcolm and how you can reverse it. You cherished the unclear relationship that had been built between you and if you can’t be with Malcolm, at least you can be his friend. You may suffer but you would do anything to bring Malcolm happiness. Malcolm seemed sad to you. His smile not reaching his eyes, his body a little too tense.

You just got off your shift. You felt horrible, but if you stop now you will turn back to your quarters and never confront Malcolm. The dull grey walls seemed like they were closing in on you. You heard your heart beating. Malcolm was hard enough to get to know.  Letting him go is even harder.

The time you waited for his door to open felt like hours. Malcolm opened the door, hair messy from sleep. He seemed to awaken in seconds when he saw you, his eyes wide open.

“Listen, Malcolm,” your voice growing increasingly desperate, “I don’t know what I have done to offend you, humans are so confusing, but if you- “

His sarcastic chuckle caught you off guard. “You haven’t done anything. Please come in. We need to talk.”

Taking a deep breath, you walked in.

His room seemed vacant, almost militaristic. Everything was in its place. His clothes were perfectly folded and put away. What little pictures he had hanging completely straight. The room was almost shining, with no speck of dust visible. The only chair in the room was near Malcolm’s desk. You assumed he didn’t have much company over.

You stood awkwardly near the door, having no idea what you should do. You felt like an intruder in his space, your body taking up too much space. Malcolm seemed at ease. He sat down on his bed and gestured for you to sit down in the chair. He looked down, silent, thinking about his next move. God, it was a mistake to come here.

“I guess I owe you an explanation,” he stopped, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Remember when we went down to that planet? The one we helped with the plague?” you nodded slowly, “while you had to pretend to be the goddess of health, I had to be your,” he hesitated, “partner. The reincarnation of some god of protection, I believe. When we got separated some guards joined us. They didn’t think I was worthy of you, I’m afraid.” Malcolm’s voice quivered, seemingly trying to hold back the emotion currently showing. “To be honest, I agree with them.”

A tense silence fell over the room.  The engine’s hum being the only noise in the room. You moved to the bed and sat at Malcolm’s side, your shoulders touching. Malcolm looked at you, at little taken aback at your sudden move.

“I thought you were angry at me. I can’t convey how relieved I am Mal.” You said, not carrying if the happiness in your voice sounded strange, “I hope you know how amazing you are. That you’re valued and loved by your friends. I can’t convince you of that right now, I know, but I also hope that you will let me stick around and prove it.” You closed the distance between your lips, your heart beating against your chest. He kissed back softly, a bit awkwardly at first. You broke away, needing to take in air. Malcolm spoke:

“Have dinner with me?”

“of course.”

[mcwriting]

starstruck (5)

It’s finally here!!! I’m so sorry this took literally 5ever but it’s here now! Ch 6 is also written but I don’t plan on releasing it until 7 is done. In the meantime, I’ll be releasing some other things I’ve had in the works for a while so be on the lookout for those ;)

Thanks to all who’ve followed me and been reading! I love you!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Fandom: Tommy Holland 

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader

Setting: LA in general

Word Count: 2013

Warnings: a little bit of language; general sad time emotions

Rating: K+ still i guess

                            __________________________________

You had run up the stairs upon entering your house, yelling out a quick “hey I’m home” to your parents to keep from rising suspicion. 

You tossed your bag onto your desk chair and went and sat on the big bean bag in the corner of your room, curling up into it under a blanket. 

It was nearing 4 o’clock and you knew that the beans would be spilled any moment now. 

You were absolutely nauseous.

You refreshed Instagram over and over until a notification came up at the top of your feed.

Tomholland2013 started a live video. Watch it before it ends!

Tears slipped down your cheeks again and you clicked on it, turning up the volume as the obviously anguished face of your worst nightmare appeared on the screen. The way his eyes puffed unnaturally led you to believe he, too, had been crying. 

He waited a few seconds for people to join and weakly smiled. It broke your heart to see him in this state, but it pained you even more to know how it had come to this.

“Hey, everyone,” he began quietly, waving to the camera. You recognized the background photos from his hotel room and continued to weep harder.

Comments were rolling in, concerned fans asking Tom if he was okay and what was going on. Even some of his celebrity friends appeared to be confused in the comments.

“I wanted to address some rumors going on about me and the mystery girl. That girl is y/n y/l/n. We met by accident at the premiere last week and snapped a photo together as I’m sure you’ve all seen. Fast forward to only a few days ago, when I helped take her to the hospital.”

He paused. Comments were getting more frequent as the live stream continued, more people joining by the second. 

Your breath was caught in your throat and chest was heavy and tight.

Am I having a panic attack? you thought before Tom continued.

“I took y/n to the hospital because she injured her head and I happened to be at the right place at the right time. That’s all that happened. We have only met those two times and I am happy that I was there when she needed help.”

You help back sobs at this point, not wanting to alarm your parents but unable to suppress the emotions you felt about his lying.

“Every other theory or suspicion is false. Those photos were of me driving her to the doctor. Y/n and I have had no contact since the incident, so please don’t bother her any further. I just wanted to come on and say y/n, I hope you’re feeling better and doing well, and to let all of you fans know the truth.”

He looked away from the camera when he said “truth,” and you were angered more.

This wasn’t the truth. This wasn’t okay. This wasn’t the Tom you’d come to know and even consider a friend. 

“Finally, thank you all for the support on the movie and I love seeing your reactions. I will resume doing press this weekend when I head to South Korea and then China next week. I’m glad I could share this film with you and once again, I hope you’re feeling better y/n and that we could possibly meet again when you are okay. Thank you all.”

He gave a final wave and slight grin before ending the stream, struggling to tap the button multiple times and swearing a bit as he finally did it.

You wanted to throw your phone across the room and smash it to pieces and simultaneously lock yourself in the closet and never leave. Another part of you yearned to scream the truth over the rooftops and tell the world how horrible Tom was for this.

Now I know why I never liked him you imagined again. 

You finally worked up the courage to send one message to b/f/n.

I’m sorry.

You hit send and seconds later another text came through from someone else.

I’m so sorry. It’s done.

Who from? 

Clara twinkletoes, of course.

You tossed your phone away from you on the carpet and snuggled further into the bean bag, trying to muffle the sounds of sobs with your blanket.

                             __________________________________

Your parents called you down for dinner, but food wasn’t on your mind in the slightest.

You probably looked like you’d been hit by a truck as you made your way down the stairs, and your mom and dad noticed immediately.

“Oh my gosh, baby. What happened?” your mother fawned, rushing to you and placing her hands softly on your cheeks. 

“Tom Holland,” you mumbled, defeated. 

“Is that some boy I need to put in his place?” your dad asked sincerely, brows furrowed. 

You shook your head slightly and pulled away from your mother. 

“I thought that was the actor boy b/f/n likes but you don’t. Didn’t she go meet him last week?” she inquired.

“Look up his name online, I’m sure you’ll find the fabricated story somewhere.”

You apathetically began building your plate, scooping some lasagna out and grabbing a small bit of salad as your parents scanned the TMZ article that had been published with the help of an “anonymous source.”

“The source says y/l/n has shown previous disdain for the ‘Spider-Man’ star, but is grateful for the help he extended in her dire situation. Her social media is booming as both fans and haters flock to ask about her encounter, but no word has been published by her yet. It’s only a matter of time before the California native makes a statement. Most are calling her lucky, and we don’t blame her,” your mom read aloud. 

You thought you had no tears left to cry before, but more slipped down your cheek as you slid into a chair at the dining table.

“What is this?” your mom asked as she and your dad looked up from the article to you.

You started explaining everything over your dinner halfheartedly, trying not to let your emotions continue to get the best of you. 

They reacted with both concern and surprise as you told the story from beginning to present, choosing not to leave out the part where Tom had secretly been in the house a few nights previous. 

The lie was over, and the only way to move forward was with the truth, no matter how your parents would react. 

Upon finishing the tale, you looked up from your barely eaten meal to find both parents eyeing you sympathetically. 

“That’s it. That’s everything. Punish me how you see fit. Nothing could be worse than what I’ve already been through today.”

“Honey, we aren’t going to punish you. You’re an adult and you made some decisions that you can’t un-make. The consequences have already presented themselves. What matters now is how you move on from this,” your mom began. 

“And we’ll be behind you every step of the way,” your dad finished. 

You couldn’t help but smile and stood to hug them, welcoming their warm embraces. While cherishing the moment, you still couldn’t help but fear for b/f/n’s reaction.

“We may have to talk about you being able to sneak a boy into the house under our noses, though,” your father joked as you leaned into their arms.

                             __________________________________

You readied for bed after spending a few hours curled into the couch watching evening programming. 

You hadn’t looked at your phone once since receiving that text from Tom and dreaded looking at it, but decided to do so anyways. 

You saw that there was a message from b/f/n but decided to ignore it for now. 

Snapchat was filled with snaps from friends and acquaintances who had learned of the incident already. 

Leaving them on read was the only feasible option right now.

A quick scan of Instagram and Twitter shot your anxiety through the roof and you refused to make any posts just yet. 

The world would just have to wait for your mental health to improve.

Eventually you worked up the nerve to open the text from b/f/n, ignoring all others from family and other close friends. 

This isn’t you, it began.

You have a lot of explaining to do if you expect me to understand or forgive you, but I’m not writing you off just yet

Let me know when you’re ready to talk.

You honestly couldn’t believe it. 

Sure, you two had been friends for years and been through thick and thin, but you also knew how she could react in anger and be unforgiving for a long time. 

It took about 20 minutes of you staring at her texts and pacing the room to think up a reply, and your words still would never make up for all of it.

I really don’t know if I am ready to share, but I swear on my life that you’ll be the first to hear from me when I am. I’ll be in touch soon. Thank you, I love you.

With that, you placed the phone on the charger on do not disturb and you crawled onto the bed.

A certain scent hit you like a truck upon laying down. 

You inhaled sharply and tensed. 

That damned cologne was still there.

Sleeping like this was not an option, so immediately you got back up, headed out the door, and made your way to the guest room.

That would have to work tonight, and tomorrow you would have to decide between washing or burning your bedsheets. 

Those thoughts didn’t make it too far, though, because almost immediately after your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light.

                             __________________________________

You couldn’t do anything.

All day you had stayed in, afraid to be seen in public and even worse, be confronted about this. You couldn’t even make yourself go to dance in avoidance of your classmates.

Instead, you spent the day managing your anger and sadness through working out for almost two hours and eventually breaking down on the floor of your makeshift home gym. 

Your mom had taken off from work to keep watch of you and came in upon hearing you. She sat down on the floor and embraced you, ignoring the sweat covering your body and clothes. 

After finally managing to get up, you headed back upstairs and hopped into a long hot bath. Maybe that would cleanse you of all of this.

It didn’t. 

Later, you stripped your bed of the sheets and tossed them in the wash, dumping a scoop and a half of laundry detergent in for good measure. You also misted the bare mattress and pillows with linen spray just in case. 

You wouldn’t let anything remind you of him. 

The day went by too slowly as isolation set in. You couldn’t check social media because your feed was overloaded with inquiries, and you couldn’t talk to your friends because they were just as bad as the fans and haters. 

You were now sitting watching youtube videos while your mom watched tv. You weren’t paying attention until you heard the volume go up.

Upon looking up at the screen, you saw that she was watching Entertainment Tonight and they were running a story on you. 

It felt like your stomach had dropped to the floor when your name was said by one of the journalists. Even though you knew that what they’d say was false, you couldn’t look away. 

They basically recapped everything Tom and the TMZ article had said, but also mentioned that you had been talked about on other talk shows and gossip sites all night and day. 

Your mom gave you a sympathetic look, but you chose to ignore it all, rolling your eyes and continuing to try to figure out how to move on. 

Eventually you would have to leave the house and talk about it all, but today was necessary for self care and reflection.

                             __________________________________

That’s it for this one! It’s realllllll dramatic but oh well haha. Thanks for reading and sorry it took so long to put out!

If you wanna be added to the tag list, please send an ask or message bc I can’t reply to comments on posts since this is a side blog :(

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